I remember—as a child—watching the traveling sun alight the reds and oranges of the stained glass inside Calvary Chapel. 

Like so much these days I photographed it through a window while passing by. 

Tonight I’m home. This will be one of three nights I’ve slept at home in 3 months. Being among my things is like being on the earth, although I’m more and more at home in movement, suspended,  nowhere and going. 

Tomorrow I’m off to Santa Fe for a couple of days. I have to deliver a few last words to the desert. 

FILTH OF DEATH, WHO CAN CLEAN YOU OUT? 

(Anne Carson, Antigonick)

I remember—as a child—watching the traveling sun alight the reds and oranges of the stained glass inside Calvary Chapel.

Like so much these days I photographed it through a window while passing by.

Tonight I’m home. This will be one of three nights I’ve slept at home in 3 months. Being among my things is like being on the earth, although I’m more and more at home in movement, suspended, nowhere and going.

Tomorrow I’m off to Santa Fe for a couple of days. I have to deliver a few last words to the desert.

FILTH OF DEATH, WHO CAN CLEAN YOU OUT?

(Anne Carson, Antigonick)

  1. wildwildwhatever posted this

SARA RENEE MARSHALL

I am a poet, teacher, and PhD candidate at University of Georgia. To correspond, write to sara r marshall at gmail dot com.

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