The unarmored
shoes she dons
leave space in the toe
for a soul. A phantom
hanging on her thigh
slips past
the mind’s
control.
Circles she’s in
wheel slowly.
She cracks jokes that go over
like lead.
The flag once borne
on a shoulder
now fatigues a frame
by her bed.
Eyes that once
were beside
watch her recede
into light; pills
the VA prescribed
count down
like rounds
in a fight.
The Church of Claude
In this episode, First Things senior editor Dan Hitchens joins Virginia and Germán to discuss Magnifica Humanitas.…
The SSPX Leadership Against Scripture and Tradition
The Holy See has declared that, if the Society of St. Pius X (SSPX) proceeds with the…
In the Land of St. Agatha
My ITA Airways flight landed near Palermo on a Sunday morning. After leaving my baggage and ten…