Ken Harvey

Gordon’s cold had gone deeper, his breathing raspy and heavy.  He had just made an appointment to see his doctor later that afternoon when Ellen Joyce, who worked in the rectory at St. Luke’s Church, phoned him.  She told him that at Sodality’s Brunch that morning, Father Jim had stood to thank the women for their service when he was stricken by a massive heart attack. He died before the ambulance arrived.

“It’s hard to know what to say,” Gordon said, wondering how he had managed to put the words together.  His body grew warm as if his cold had spiked a fever.  He removed his wire-framed glasses and pressed his fingertips against his eyelids. When he heard Ellen sniffling, he tried to think of something comforting to say, but all he could come … Read More »

ALONG THE DUERO

A stork at the bell tower’s peak
circled around its height and around the home below
as the little swallows squealed. Dry winds have crossed
a long, long winter of snow, escaping the inferno.

_________Tomorrow, it might be nice.
Today, the sun bakes the poor earth of Soriana.

The pines are so green they’re
nearly blue and spring
electrifies the poplar blooms
along the highway
and the river, the Duero running gently, terse and mute.

The landscape isn’t innocent; it is down-soft, ripe and cleft.
In the weeds a solitary, shy flower unfolds,
blue—or white… Beauty, beauty tremendous: the meadow unflowered yet,
the mystic spring—

albas flanking the white streets and riverbanks poplar-flush,
and the frothing apex of the mountain
is outlined in remotest blue,
the daysun rising, clearest day—
enchanted, this vision of Spain!

*

THE GOLDEN APRIL MORNING SMILED…

The golden April morning smiled
_____and the pearl moon
slid
_____into the cleave
_________of the curved horizon,
with … Read More »

Interview by Karen Cresci