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

Letter to Dad from New Danville, PA

Julia Kasdorf

When I can no longer stand

to read or write in any chair

or couch in the house,

I bank the fire and head out

into the night, slither

between electric fence lines

and climb a ridge where you can see lights

from Lancaster city all the way

to the black Susquehanna.

I lie down there under Orion’s belt

until snow melts through my hair

to the back of my neck. This is the best

thing you ever taught me: to stop

and stretch out under tree limbs or clouds.

I almost forgot how good a pasture feels

beneath a sore back. And these evil days

when you can’t say who will sign your check

or for how long, as friends of thirty years

get canned or quit or just turn silent,

you must walk out onto that smooth swath

of Westinghouse lawn and lie down. Think

how the sky will open above you. Think

how the ground will hold you

as it always has, as it certainly will

until it takes you once and for all.



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