Tent Revival
My dad dreamed of a tent staked to the ground:
preachers at the pulpit like batters at the plate,
soles in the dirt, coaxing souls from the dirt.
My husband slept in a tent, his dreams
the drums of a Cherokee reservation,
his church pew the buffalo grass.
With bedsheets, I build a tent for my sons.
Flashlight like an acolyte’s flame,
I teach them only to kneel.
Copyright 2026 by Heather Cadenhead. All Rights Reserved.
What It’s Like Underneath by Joshua Alan Sturgill
I Believe in Beef and Beer: Mr. Hecht says we eat far too much, and further and especially that we eat too much meat. Both of these propositions are erroneous. The truth is that we don’t eat enough, and that we don’t eat enough meat. There is a subsidiary error to the effect that food may be defined as body-building substance. The definition is bad, inasmuch as it is accidental instead of being essential. Good food is stuff that we like eating: bad food is stuff that we hate eating.
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