Duane K. Caylor

“If I knew that tomorrow was the end of the world, I would plant an apple tree today.” —attributed, probably incorrectly, to Martin Luther Whether he really owns the aphorism,or it belongs to someone else instead(perhaps it’s a rabbinic witticism),it sounds like something Luther might . . . . Continue Reading »

Iniquity, O Lord, can be delicious:always in season, always tender, sweet,blushing, and aromatic. Not capriciousit always hangs low, begging us to eat.One night, I stripped a neighbor’s tree of pears—not grade A pears, but seconds grown for swine—taking them not because the fruit was . . . . Continue Reading »

Our army met Perugia’s on the plainbeside the hospital. All day we foughtwith crossbow, sword, and lancet to obtainour freedom, but by dusk it came to naught.So I became a prisoner of men,as glorious as a rat holed in its nest,and mourned for joys I might not taste again,considering him pierced . . . . Continue Reading »

Pill bottles in assorted sizes liescattered across the smooth Formica plainof the bathroom countertop. They testifylike pediments and pillars that remain . . . . . . . Continue Reading »

Many of those here only know a verse of any given carol, sometimes less— sometimes an isolated phrase or terse refrain like “Gloria.” Most still confess the apostolic faith, though as naïve in its theology as those days when as children they would sing on Christmas Eve in church. Now . . . . Continue Reading »

Genesis 7:12 Today seemed just an ordinary day. The sun rose like an irritated eye; wives cooked rice pancakes; children went to play at tag in dusty fields or caught frogs by the banks of the Euphrates; while the men took to the brick kilns, potters’ wheels, and plows; lovers arose to make . . . . Continue Reading »

Spring like a popular insurrection rises against a winter government’s assizes; gone mad by June, its liberality gives way to summer’s fruitful anarchy. Order returns in autumn as the air with libertarian chill grows doctrinaire. Displacing fall, the winter vows to keep a Tory world, . . . . Continue Reading »

Two years of drought seem broken by a deluge that would be the wrath of God were it not mercy. No doubt some prophet has spoken to Heaven for us and obtained a grace sufficient to wash away all memory of withered crops, clear skies, dry wells, and the taste and texture of dust in the teeth. No . . . . Continue Reading »

Once again, we are on the road early, driving to see our sonwrestle with cancer for gold. . . . . Continue Reading »