In a Cedar Tub

Nearly midnight
and traffic still goes on,
people not where
they want to be.

Up to my neck
in fire-warmed water,
my arms arc
the tub’s round rim

and a school’s lights
amber-stain the clouds.
We know by faith
stars burn above them.

Feet gripping the far wall,
I become a shallow cup,
an open parenthesis
in which you lie, half-

floating, half-stretching,
so our bodies declare
again a wordless fidelity.
Snow swirls around u

as we celebrate
our anniversary,
our union and reunion,
our lasting buoyancy.

Don't miss the best from America

Sign up for our Newsletter to get the Jesuit perspective on news, faith and culture.

The latest from america

The sisters say that they are “most troubled by the cuts it would make to Medicaid by ending the Medicaid expansion and instituting a per capita cap [on spending].”

In 2003, the U.S. Army’s Guantanamo Bay facility received a 16-year-old boy, Omar Khadr. Omar would become Gitmo’s youngest prisoner. Born in Toronto, Ontario, he had been captured by U.S. special forces in 2002; U.S. military believe he was responsible for the death of a U.S.

Dean DettloffJuly 25, 2017
When I heard President Trump’s address to the Boy Scout Jamboree last night, I was appalled.
Gregory HillisJuly 25, 2017
Meteorologists say spring 2017 was Italy's third-driest in some 60 years. The drought has put Rome at risk for drastic water rationing, a measure being considered later this week by authorities.
APJuly 24, 2017