The Cresset
A Review of Literature, Fine Arts, and Current Affairs
Current Issue   books   poetry   archive   main site
Patmos
Tania Runyan (bio)

No cave, cleft, or ocean shattering bluffs.
The only trumpet “Hot Cross Buns”

blatting from my daughter’s open window.
I circle the block to find my messengers:

a whimpering beagle roped to a magnolia,
ear flipped inside out. Cracked rainbow pinwheels,

plaster Nessie in the dandelions, all bought
and positioned for some prophecy of beauty.

If only a forsythia opened by my bedroom window,
I would spend a week in resurrection. If only

a birdbath and bench for prayer. Or a cherubim
on the front steps, concrete wings spread

over a basket of trailing lobelia. Who could hide
from that serene, carved smile? But we always enter

through the garage instead: crushed milk bottles,
mud-scabbed boots, jump ropes coiled

with shovels and bikes. They were never meant to lie
in our way. Like it or not, they speak.

Tania Runyan

Copyright © 2014
Valparaiso University
Privacy Policy
rose