The Worship of Poetry

Posted by Naomi Vacaro on

A Collection of Poems


Our Foremother's Bodies

By Phylicia Masonheimer

I wonder if anyone noticed

Priscilla’s thighs

were getting dimpled

as she taught Apollos

and mended tents with Paul.

Or perhaps the disciples

cringed and

commented that

Mary’s waist

was larger than last summer?

Could it be Dorcas,

in all her serving,

was a little less worthy

because her skin

was spotted and speckled

like Jacob’s sheep?

Our foremothers knew some things

about bodies:

they exist to give life.

Life giving,

Life caring,

Life spending

has a cost.

It leaves a scar.

Why are we surprised?

Service scarred Him too.

Maybe it’s “Well done”

not “Great body!”

because Heaven doesn’t care

about the fat on bended knees.


Blood and Water

By Gloria Page

Before a birth,

A water bursts.

A baby’s born in blood.

My Lord came through that canal,

Crying for his mother.

When He died, and my sin with him,

The soldiers pierced his side.

And what should flow from life’s last breath

But blessed blood and water.

As Eve was born from Adam’s rib,

I was remade there.

I drank the cup of wine called blood.

His wound, his tomb, my second womb.

I claimed his death as mine when 

They dunked me under water.

Covered by the blood.

Washed in cleansing water.

His grave clothes swaddle my new skin as I’m presented to the Father.

Born into his family name,

I call him Older Brother. 



By Emily Miller 

We as green as spring

Rolled in dusty earth

Laughed at cloud-strewn skies

Dreamed of what would come

To our little lives.

We as strong as summer

Set busily to work

Weaving plans, successes,

Failures, joys, and loss

Into identity

We as startled as autumn

Flushed at the passage of time

Our dreams slipped past us

And became facts, regrets

Distant memories

We, as frantic as winter

Snatching at the last leaves

Of retreating life,

Ask why we live so hard

And hate so much to go.

Dust returns to dust
Soul returns to Maker

To us a Son was given

For us the God-Man died

With us He will return

We’ll see a new dawn

With eyes as new as springtime

With strength to match

Eternal summer

We’ll dance in light

Untarnished by the fall

Our hearts made wise

By the memory of winter.



By Jordan Sparnroft

It calls my name

It’s easier to

not care

not love

To think of self

To sleep

To put it all on a shelf 

I’m tangled in emotions 

In the knot of self

Forgetting The One

Who set it all into motion

Then I hear You whisper 

“Wake up. Fight.”

All the while it tells me,

“What’s it all for?”

“You’re not even fighting right.”

My fight is weak. 

“Just show up.”

You speak.  

Open my eyelids 

Wake up my brain

Strengthen my hands

Fix what is lame 

This muscle in my chest

Bring me low 

It’s there where I’m best


How Eve Felt

By Lauren Wifler

I want to know how Eve felt, knowing


but the tending of light. I want

to know how it felt 

to be full and heavy with good, pulsing 

with the strange creature of perfection. 

I want to know the unmarred pleasure

of a day, 

to have stood by the sea next to

the Word that formed it. 

I want to know how Eve felt grasping


hand. Maybe she got goosebumps. Maybe

 she sighed. 

I want to know how it felt to wake

 up under the moon, 

and look into Joy’s face. 

Love, I imagine, is a pleasant companion. 

I wonder if Eve’s hand touched a

 tree, a rock, 

a flower, to say,


 it’s nice to meet you. 

I wonder if they leaned in to say

 hello back. 

It’s too bad then, that Eve felt

 it was too good to be true.

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