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by Emma McCoy | Poetry | Every Wednesday in the living room, despite the tremors and riot-noise of the week, we come to communion. How it all started, around the table. After a meal.

John Mitchell | Poetry | The Shepherds tending Their flocks at night Saw it first: The heavenly host, heralding. Today, they’d be a viral sensation. A few would leave their herds.

by Julie Sumner | Poetry | Merry as in Christmas. Merry, that kissing cousin to another word, mirth, a mouthful of laughter tumbling into the world like a thousand rosy-gummed babies. Gracious One, I thank you for your merry band of holy fools. For the mullet-crowned man who slapped