by Sarah Crowley Chesnut

There is a fire in the lashes of my eyes, said Mary.

The blinding blaze of the world leapt highways, skipped

treetop to treetop for the poet because she was awake.

This is not a comforting image.  Elijah was awake and ran

scared for miles, sheltered in a cave God used

as his own mouth to ask the man, what are you doing here?


Sarah Crowley Chestnut lives and works at L’Abri Fellowship in Southborough, MA and is a graduate of Regent College. Her poems have appeared in CRUX, Christianity and Literature, Bearings Online, Peacock Journal and in a local ekphrastic collection, Art on the Trails: Unexpected Gestures.