Ancient Paths Literary Magazine

I re-read this poem, which was previously published in Ancient Paths (Issue 14, 2007), every year at this time:

As Days Go By
by Ida Fasel

The leaves fell early, and I cannot write
Of those who danced at death with such delight
In their descent. I have the shock and horror
Of Milton at the Piedmont massacre.
He made of his stunned silence holy sound
As martyred blood and ash fell to the ground.

I cannot write and yet I have the grief,
The long sob, the Einfühlung without relief.
I cannot write by day so words slip through
At night. I turn by day from vivid view
Of slaughter. I cannot write, I cannot write
Of those who danced at death with such delight.

I cannot write; I stay and yet I leave:
After the cries, the whispers of the grave.

Ancient Paths is thankful for all of the talented poets, writers, photographers, and artists who have made this publication possible. This year, Ancient Paths has nominated four poems for the Pushcart Prize. Check out the blog post, and be sure to congratulate our nominees.

https://www.skylarb.com/post/congratulations-to-our-2024-pushcart-prize-nominees

"After I Was Raised"
by Liz Dolan

John 11

Sweaty hands touch my garments
as I scoop water from the well. No one understands:
the voluptuousness of the sun, the scent
of breeding women, copper-colored, the chickens
pecking at my toes, the cacophony of chatter
the busybodies, the visitors
with their mitzvahs and challah. Still

Martha clucks about me like a brood hen
oiling my skin, clipping my nails.
And her endless braying
about Jesus, Jesus…kneeling I speak
of the unredeemed souls
I have seen. Tiny cymbals din.
The voice of another rises
in my throat.

MOM'S MAPLE DESK CHAIR
by Michael Shoemaker

Sitting on the chair
she worked with
bills, taxes, mail,
pens, paper, and a pad.

In this, smooth chair
varnished with care
her voice within
would hallow it with
silent prayers.

"Father, today, nothing for me,
all for them.
Please, keep my three boys safe
and let them always feel Thy lasting grace."

I never heard these silent prayers,
but know them as well as the scripture memorized.
Looking past her glasses and through her eyes
I see the words in her heart,
the wellspring of love that never dies.