Breath & Shadow
Volume 9, Issue 1
I’m calm until I hear the warm Midwestern voice on the line, the accent somewhere between my dad’s and Joan Cusack’s.
“Cherrypoppers, how may we help you today?” “Joan’s” voice says, and suddenly I feel like a middle-school kid about to hold hands for the first time.
Who’d that been with?
"Event of the Century"
The winter wind whips my long hair about me as I tap my long white cane against the brick wall of Fuddrucker’s, searching for the door. My friends do the same with their canes. Grease filters through the chill air; it is the unmistakable odor of a burger joint. We’re cold and hungry. Finding the door, we scurry inside. We’re seven friends out on a Saturday having a good time—we all happen to be blind.
"Too Wonderfully Strange"
And for this aged priest to be asked to help. That was just extraordinary. He thought of the Christmas Child, vulnerable and tiny, dependent, trusting. And trust was what it was all about. Trust in his own ability to give care, to maintain a calm exterior, to not weep. Trust in his willingness to be vulnerable himself. He wasn't wearing his clericals - no collar or stole or chasuble to mask his fear. Just his skin and his casual jeans.
It is night and she unzips her skin at the seam over her spine, spilling out muscle and bone and blood. It is night and she unfolds from the body she wears during the day and goes walking.
The asphalt of the road is cool against the pads of her feet, the summer air sticky around her throat like a necklace made of seaweed and car exhaust.