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		<title>First Things RSS Feed - Claudia Gary</title>
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		<copyright>Copyright 2025 First Things. All Rights Reserved.</copyright>
		<managingEditor>ft@firstthings.com (The Editors)</managingEditor>
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		<pubDate>Mon, 20 Jan 2025 16:52:46 -0500</pubDate>
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		<ttl>60</ttl>

		<item>
			<title>​Comfort Food</title>
			<guid>https://www.firstthings.com/article/2017/03/comfort-food</guid>
			<link>https://www.firstthings.com/article/2017/03/comfort-food</link>
			<pubDate>Wed, 01 Mar 2017 00:00:00 -0500</pubDate>
			
			<description><![CDATA[<p>Lentils and barley,
<br>
water and salt,
<br>
split peas and pasta&mdash;
<br>
pure to a fault&mdash;
<br>
<br>
stir until clouded,
<br>
season to taste,
<br>
boil and then simmer,
<br>
nothing to waste.
<br>
<br>
Greens can be added.
<br>
Time&rsquo;s on a loop.
<br>
Towers have toppled
<br>
into the soup.
<br>
<br>
Cauldron of comfort
<br>
served with warm hands,
<br>
this is a recipe
<br>
crisis demands.
<br>


</p> <p><em><a href="https://www.firstthings.com/article/2017/03/comfort-food">Continue Reading </a> &raquo;</em></p>]]></description>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title>The Postponed Conversation</title>
			<guid>https://www.firstthings.com/article/2013/10/the-postponed-conversation</guid>
			<link>https://www.firstthings.com/article/2013/10/the-postponed-conversation</link>
			<pubDate>Tue, 01 Oct 2013 00:00:00 -0400</pubDate>
			
			<description><![CDATA[<p> Some days her mind begins to reappear. 
<br>
  Today you feel her halting fingers trace,  
<br>
  along your skull, the curls she used to fear,  
<br>
  although she raised you in a gentler place  
<br>
  than where her classmates called her &#147;kinky head&#148;  
<br>
  or worse. She thinks she&#146;s cringing by her locker, 
<br>
  until she sees you there. &#147;Sorry I said 
<br>
  those things,&#148; she whispers. Late regrets unblock her. 
<br>
  
<br>
  When you were sixteen, she was being kind,  
<br>
  searing your scalp with chemicals to free  
<br>
  you of the curls she gave you. In her mind  
<br>
  the only truth out there was cruelty. 
<br>
  
<br>
  Here, now, she loves your hair. Grasping your brush,  
<br>
  she soothes you, coaxes you. Don&#146;t question. Hush. 
</p> <p><em><a href="https://www.firstthings.com/article/2013/10/the-postponed-conversation">Continue Reading </a> &raquo;</em></p>]]></description>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title>One Small Step</title>
			<guid>https://www.firstthings.com/article/2013/06/one-small-step</guid>
			<link>https://www.firstthings.com/article/2013/06/one-small-step</link>
			<pubDate>Sat, 01 Jun 2013 00:00:00 -0400</pubDate>
			
			<description><![CDATA[<p>               
<em> i.m. Neil Armstrong </em>
  
</p> <p><em><a href="https://www.firstthings.com/article/2013/06/one-small-step">Continue Reading </a> &raquo;</em></p>]]></description>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title>Mother&rsquo;s Day Remembered</title>
			<guid>https://www.firstthings.com/article/2012/06/mothers-day-remembered</guid>
			<link>https://www.firstthings.com/article/2012/06/mothers-day-remembered</link>
			<pubDate>Fri, 01 Jun 2012 00:00:00 -0400</pubDate>
			
			<description><![CDATA[<p> Far from where your sharp glance and mine could meet, 
<br>
 a laundromat on Rue des Pyren&eacute;es 
<br>
 was where I learned to fold a fitted sheet&rdquo; 
<br>
 which, in a different language, seemed OK. 
<br>
  
<br>
 The  
<em> parisienne </em>
  who showed me how to place 
<br>
 my hands in the sheet&rsquo;s corners, shake it straight, 
<br>
 then bring both palms together, was an ace 
<br>
 at teaching without judging.  ( 
<em> Why so late? </em>
 ) 
<br>
  
<br>
 At 21 I was a cultured waif, 
<br>
 a refugee from family politics 
<br>
 into another mess where I&rsquo;d felt safe 
<br>
 with hasty marriage thrown into the mix. 
<br>
  
<br>
 Did this kind-hearted stranger know, or care, 
<br>
 that her instruction held a hidden prayer? 
</p> <p><em><a href="https://www.firstthings.com/article/2012/06/mothers-day-remembered">Continue Reading </a> &raquo;</em></p>]]></description>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title>Icarus</title>
			<guid>https://www.firstthings.com/article/2011/12/icarus</guid>
			<link>https://www.firstthings.com/article/2011/12/icarus</link>
			<pubDate>Thu, 01 Dec 2011 00:00:00 -0500</pubDate>
			
			<description><![CDATA[<p> If no one on the ground or ocean 
<br>
 was injured when he turned to a noun 
<br>
 what was the loss? His wings were waxen. 
<br>
 He should have known the risk but wanted 
<br>
  
<br>
 always to be a verb: pure motion, 
<br>
 wind on his chest as none could have known, 
<br>
 distance and gravity forsaken. 
<br>
 Simply to be a verb he mounted 
<br>
  
<br>
 higher above the sea, the warming 
<br>
 sun on his back a false homecoming. 
<br>
 Truth was a disappointment. Even 
<br>
 imagination failed to keep him.  
</p> <p><em><a href="https://www.firstthings.com/article/2011/12/icarus">Continue Reading </a> &raquo;</em></p>]]></description>
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