An Observation May Sarton True gardeners cannot bear a glove Between the sure touch and the tender root, Must let their hands grow knotted as they move With a rough sensitivity about Under the earth, between the rock and shoot, Never to bruise or wound the hidden fruit. And so I watched my mother's hands … Continue reading Praying with Fringes 05/10/2018 – we must be hard To move among the tender with an open hand
Reverence Julie Cadwallader-Staub The air vibrated with the sound of cicadas on those hot Missouri nights after sundown when the grown-ups gathered on the wide back lawn, sank into their slung-back canvas chairs tall glasses of iced tea beading in the heat and we sisters chased fireflies reaching for them in the dark admiring their … Continue reading Praying with Fringes 07/06/2017 – that same utter certainty of the goodness of life
August Mary Oliver When the blackberries hang swollen in the woods, in the brambles nobody owns, I spend all day among the high branches, reaching my ripped arms, thinking of nothing, cramming the black honey of summer into my mouth; all day my body accepts what it is. In the dark creeks that run by … Continue reading Praying with Fringes 7/11/2014 – cramming the black honey of summer into my mouth
Fringes: a feminist, non-zionist havurah 