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The Dog-Eared Page

The Dog-Eared Page

Prayer For A Divided Nation

Prayers for the listeners of NPR and the listeners of Fox News, / For the followers of Rachel Maddow and the followers of Rush Limbaugh. / May they open their hearts, may they open their minds, / May they find ways to be in community and to repair the nation.

By Cynthia Schrager May 2021
The Dog-Eared Page

On Nature And The Environment

Can you have a feeling for a tree, look at it, see the beauty of it, listen to the sound it makes; be sensitive to the little plant, to the little weed, to that creeper that is growing up the wall, to the light on the leaves and the many shadows?

By J. Krishnamurti April 2021
The Dog-Eared Page

The School

We weren’t even supposed to have a puppy.

By Donald Barthelme March 2021
The Dog-Eared Page

At The Arraignment

Which of us has never broken a law? / I died for you — a desperate extravagance, even for me. / If you can’t be merciful, at least be bold.

By Debra Spencer February 2021
The Dog-Eared Page

In The Middle

of a life that’s as complicated as everyone else’s, / struggling for balance, juggling time.

By Barbara Crooker January 2021
The Dog-Eared Page

Morally Indefensible

It is often said of laying hens, veal calves, and dogs kept in cages for experimental purposes that this does not cause them to suffer, since they have never known other conditions. . . . This is a fallacy.

By Peter Singer December 2020
The Dog-Eared Page

The Only Real Story

I think of the children who will never know, intuitively, that a flower is a plant’s way of making love, or what silence sounds like, or that trees breathe out what we breathe in.

By Barbara Kingsolver November 2020
The Dog-Eared Page

If I Were God

If I were God, I would make a world just like this one, where everyone comes raw and naked and dependent into it; where everyone enters bloody between the legs or through the cut belly of a woman; where nothing is for certain and there is so much to learn.

By Pat Schneider October 2020
The Dog-Eared Page

Letter To My Father

Stride from the crowd to seize the president’s arm before another roll of paper towels sails away. Thunder Spanish obscenities in his face. Banish him to a roofless rainstorm in Utuado, so he unravels, one soaked sheet after another, till there is nothing left but his cardboard heart.

By Martín Espada September 2020
The Dog-Eared Page

The Race

I used my legs and heart as if I would
gladly use them up for this,
to touch him again in this life

By Sharon Olds September 2020
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