Stonework is published by Houghton College, a Christian liberal arts college located in New York’s rural Genesee Valley. Stonework seeks a diverse mix of mature and emerging voices in fellowship with the evangelical tradition. Published twice a year, the journal reflects the arts community at Houghton College where excellence in music, writing, and the visual arts has long been a distinctive.

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  • Issue 6
    Poetry by Paul Willis and Thom Satterlee. Fiction and interview with Lori Huth. Essay by James Wardwell, and student poets from Christian campuses.
  • Issue 5
    Poetry by Susanna Childress and Debra Rienstra. Fiction excerpt by Emilie Griffin. Art from Houghton's 2007 presidential inauguration and a forum on women writing.
  • Issue 4
    Matthew Roth--new poems. Diane Glancy--from One of Us and an interview. John Tatter-on gardens and poetry. The Landscapes of John Rhett. Stephen Woolsey--on the poetry of Jack Clemo. James Wardwell--on Herrick.
  • Issue 3
    Poetry by Julia Kasdorf, Robert Siegel and Sandra Duguid. Fiction by Tom Noyes. The portraits of Alieen Ortlip Shea. An anthology of Australian Poets
  • Issue 2
    Thom Satterlee - Poems from Burning Wycliff with an appreciation by David Perkins. Alison Gresik - new fiction and an interview. James Zoller - Poems from Living on the Floodplain.
  • Issue 1
    Luci Shaw — new poems with an appreciation by Eugene H. Peterson & Hugh Cook — new fiction and an interview

Wednesday, November 29, 2006

The Baby Screaming in the Back Seat

Julia Kasdorf

screams because she cannot see her mother driving,

because it is night and every night she screams

before sleep because she knows our paltry fires mean

nothing next to the tigers that creep from dark trees,

screams because we will drop bombs for peace, screams

because a mother in Mexico sewed her pink sleeper

while her own baby slept in a heap of clean scraps

at her feet, screams because the car drinks gas like tea,

screams as if she already sees the griefs her life will gather,

screams as the stubborn symphony keeps getting louder,

screams when it snaps off and the car drifts into a lot

and the mother climbs beside that miserable traveler

strapped in her seat, offers a breast, then sneaks back

to the front, an arm reaching back to cup the head

still hot from screaming. The mother drives,

reciting details from the night this child was born --

snow blew across the moon, ski runs blazed

like great snakes on the ridge outside our room--

and still the baby screams because she can’t believe

anyone is driving this machine.


Next: Letter to Dad from New Danville, PA