Life from Canada to Latin America, one word at a time.
International Worker’s Day, or May Day, is a national holiday in Colombia. Across the country, workers and unions march to celebrate workers’ rights, and the long struggle of workers all over the world for dignified working conditions, especially in the late 19th century: “Eight hours to work, eight hours to sleep, eight hours for what
The Stolen Camera by Naomi Shihab Nye Since the camera was stolen everything is a photograph— pink bloom against white stucco, serious face of the potato chip man leaning over his cart. In the square, gypsies with brilliant skirts twirl among palm trees. I reach for the camera, to hand it to you, but it
Because it is Monday morning. Because it is the end of national poetry month, which should really be international poetry month. Because in a world of earthquakes and other atrocities, moments of coffee and street gazing are sacred. I allow myself by Dorothea Grossman I allow myself the luxury of breakfast (I am no nun,
As you prepare your breakfast, think of others (do not forget the pigeon’s food). As you wage your wars, think of others (do not forget those who seek peace). As you pay your water bill, think of others (those who are nursed by clouds). As you return home, to your home, think of others (do
Gift A day so happy. Fog lifted early. I worked in the garden. Hummingbirds were stopping over the honeysuckle flowers. There was no thing on earth I wanted to possess. I knew no one worth my envying him. Whatever evil I had suffered, I forgot. To think that once I was the same man did
I could post a thousand links or write a thousand well-reasoned rants, and perhaps I will in the future, but for now, this is my prayer for the country I still call home and for all of us who are part of Canada. O Great Spirit Whose voice I hear in the wind Whose voice
The singular and cheerful life of any flower in anyone’s garden or any still unowned field- if there are any- catches me by the heart, by its color by its obedience to the holiest of laws: be alive until you are not… those princes of everything green- the grasses of which there are truly an
Let Daylight Come (Little Rock, circa 2008) -after Jane Kenyon Let the moon untangle itself from the clothesline, as coming daylight diminishes its lamp to memory. Let the cicada vow silence as a woman stirs her grits and beats her eggs. Let daylight come. Let school children shuffle into yellow buses. Let the asphalt roll
Before I get to Colombia, I’ll spend a week in Nicaragua for orientation to MCC. Our Father Who Drowns the Birds In memory of Nicaraguans killed by the Contras, 1980-1990. By Barbara Kingsolver There is a season when all wars end: when the rains come. When the landscape opens its own eyes and laughs at
Traveling Light by Linda Pastan I’m only leaving you for a handful of days, but it feels as though I’ll be gone forever— the way the door closes behind me with such solidity, the way my suitcase carries everything I’d need for an eternity of traveling light. I’ve left my hotel number on your desk,
Anna L. Vogt 