Tucson, 1986 I hang out wash on an Arizona morning. Damp cotton clings cool on my arm. Wooden pins and curve of rope, sun yellow dress, dusky rose towels, underwear bright spots of blue and pink against the smooth sweep of sheets. Down the path to the hen-house I find three eggs under the straw,
We gather the children, the tender and shy, the mischievous, lead them to a jagged beach to find their treasures of stillness while their own parents settle into the meetinghouse to gather Light. We let the children wander between piers, time dissolving into moistness. One boy with purple
Dear Editor: In appreciation for the May/June theme, “On Limits,” and each writer’s thoughtful response, I offer fresh words penned by Naomi Shihab Nye, a poetic expression of limits. She gives you her permission to publish this poem.
– Judith Favor, Claremont Meeting (PYM)