November Chill
The elevator doors opened and Mikaela stepped out into the dim light of the twelfth floor lobby. An old metal desk blocked the doorway between the small lobby and the hallway leading to her room with only a mere two-foot gap of walkway between. “Name?” The old woman behind the desk thrust out an open palm for the key Mikaela held in her right hand. “Mikaela Reynolds.” Mikaela handed over the key and stood quietly. Without looking up, the hall monitor scratched writing onto the form in front of her. “1204.” The old lady jerked her head to the left, a...
Read MoreTo Hell in a Handbasket
In Exodus 20:8 of the King James Bible, God commands, “Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy.” My mother, in her continuous quest to commune with the Almighty, made sure that not a single Sabbath day passed that she and her three little daughters were not in Sunday School at Liberty Baptist Church, and the expletives she spouted while trying to get us there reinforced just how holy the day was. “Holy mother of God, you three are going to be the death of me.” “Holy shit, I’ve got a run in my pantyhose!” “Holy hell, we’re going to be late!” she...
Read MorePieta: The Mary of Michelangelo
She’s a fulcrum of that moment when piety loses heart and tilts to unbelief. Her left hand falls open to ask, Why? Like Job she accepts God’s power, but with a dead son in her arms, her understanding falters. She bows her head, surrendering to the crushing mystery. An elegant vessel of grief, she’s larger than the vanquished form she holds. The ample folds of her robe can’t swaddle him into warmth, nor her full breasts nurse him back to health. The artist has placed her where we all go in despair— inside a memory. There, too young for this grown son, she’s an...
Read MoreRosary
Hail Mary Full of grace Blessed are you among women And blessed is the fruit of your womb, Jesus The baby had colic and money was tight She was not always patient. Sometimes at night she wept Watching his finally-sleeping face Stroking the tiny foot that would one day be a man’s Fearing what hurt she’d done him in her pain Holy Mary Mother of God Pray for us sinners Now and at the hour of our death You get the child you get, not the one you’re ready for When his passion overwhelms him She tries to keep him safe But she can’t understand the things he sees Sometimes...
Read MoreWild Violet Featured Works: Week of July 29 (Religion, Part 1)
In part one of our look at religion, Wild Violet’s contributors examine the nature of faith and its relationship to our lives: Naomi Ruth Lowinsky’s poem, “Lust and the Holy,” combines religious imagery with the natural world to paint a portrait of In the short story “The Christian” by Aaron Martz, a family is tested by one family member’s crisis of faith. In Terry Minchow-Proffitt’s poem, “An Early Exit,” a pastor tries to figure out why a parishioner has left the church. Robert Bailey’s flash fiction piece,...
Read MoreAll Suffering Soon to End
My boss called in the early afternoon while I was still in bed. I’d been working with a hotel housekeeping staff, cleaning guest rooms and getting paid under the table because I couldn’t be hired anywhere that required a background check. “What do you want?” I groaned. “Can you tell me — after the horrible morning I just had — why you didn’t show up for work?” “I didn’t feel like it,” I said miserably. “You didn’t feel like it?” “I guess not.” “You can go to hell,” she said before she hung up. I rolled out of bed, stepping carefully around the garbage...
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