Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time: Volcanic Fish
by Susan Sink

Early February. A thaw.
Light passes through
The stained glass pope
With his Proclamation.

In the gospel, Jesus
Is rowed offshore to preach
To five thousand.
He orders the boats out
At dawn, though the night
Has been fished empty.

With tired arms, they let down
Their nets, and I know it ó
Stromboli with Bergman, Rosselini ó
An eruption of fish at the surface,
The boats loaded almost to sinking.

The monk talks about conversatio,
Conversions so small they arenít noticed.
The language: silence, surrender.

The presswoman says
There is no silence:
Her machine all day,
Fatherís television at night.

Is this why it isnít working?
Why do I fall
Asleep? My prayer is
Wrong. Sin, fear, and pain,
As though a secret being revealed.

First, learn the sound of your life.
You canít hate that sound. Listen.
First tie your knots very strong,
Before you let the nets down,
At dawn, into the teeming water.

The First Sunday of Easter

Glut. After Lent the Brothers Celebrate
With Meals and Meals of Meat.
Dessert. Rich Sauces. Wine.
The Worship. The Readings. The Hymns.
One Day is Not Enough!
The Lord is Risen. The Lord, is Risen!
As if to Repeat
Will Sate.
Finally, The Brother
Takes Only a Pork Chop,
The Curved Bone Reminiscent ó
Something To Leave on the Plate,
Something Carved from the Animal.

The Second Sunday of Easter
Fish visit the disciples at dawn.
After another empty night.
The Lord on the shore ó Peter
Swims in the water. Ashore. Home.

We have heard this story before.
We have heard this story before.
We have heard this story before.

Issue Five

Editorial: Sulfir R.I.P.

Sulfur & After

Geraldine McKenzie

Michael Anania

C.S. Giscombe

John Latta

Susan Sink

D.C. Berry

Reviews of: C. S. Giscombe

Reviews of: John Matthias

And: The Word From Russia

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