Stonework is published by Houghton College, a Christian liberal arts college located in New York’s rural Genesee Valley. Stonework seeks a diverse mix of mature and emerging voices in fellowship with the evangelical tradition. Published twice a year, the journal reflects the arts community at Houghton College where excellence in music, writing, and the visual arts has long been a distinctive.

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  • Issue 6
    Poetry by Paul Willis and Thom Satterlee. Fiction and interview with Lori Huth. Essay by James Wardwell, and student poets from Christian campuses.
  • Issue 5
    Poetry by Susanna Childress and Debra Rienstra. Fiction excerpt by Emilie Griffin. Art from Houghton's 2007 presidential inauguration and a forum on women writing.
  • Issue 4
    Matthew Roth--new poems. Diane Glancy--from One of Us and an interview. John Tatter-on gardens and poetry. The Landscapes of John Rhett. Stephen Woolsey--on the poetry of Jack Clemo. James Wardwell--on Herrick.
  • Issue 3
    Poetry by Julia Kasdorf, Robert Siegel and Sandra Duguid. Fiction by Tom Noyes. The portraits of Alieen Ortlip Shea. An anthology of Australian Poets
  • Issue 2
    Thom Satterlee - Poems from Burning Wycliff with an appreciation by David Perkins. Alison Gresik - new fiction and an interview. James Zoller - Poems from Living on the Floodplain.
  • Issue 1
    Luci Shaw — new poems with an appreciation by Eugene H. Peterson & Hugh Cook — new fiction and an interview

Tuesday, May 01, 2007

How Memory Works

~Matthew Roth

One giant slab of morning light
crashes down the narrow street
like a whale struck in a shipping lane.

The scientists come wearing rubber gloves
and hip waders. They heave it onto the sidewalk
and have at it with their dull gray instruments.

Soon, its organs are spilled across the ground
like Gettysburg's dead. They slice open
the stomach and find everything

the light consumed: the white tablecloth
bruised with wine, the two a.m. feeding,
the knife and the gun, brown nut of sleep

cracked open, bowed heads of flowers,
still fragrant, asleep in their beds.
By the time I arrive almost nothing is left.

Every article of interest has been carted away
to far-off labs for further study. So I go, without
thinking even to touch its dim remainders,

lying there on the concrete like twilight—
not thinking until now, two weeks hence,
standing here in the pre-dawn rain,

I look down and spy something
glinting off my black boots
like a tiny flower of daylight,

which it is.