I am so happy today to see Spillwords Press publish my love poem, “Where Would We Go?” You can find it right here.
Thanks once again to Director of Development Dagmara K. for allowing me to share my voice via this wonderful online magazine!
I am so happy today to see Spillwords Press publish my love poem, “Where Would We Go?” You can find it right here.
Thanks once again to Director of Development Dagmara K. for allowing me to share my voice via this wonderful online magazine!
It seems that no school shooting is complete without renewed calls for mandatory prayer in the public school classroom. But how exactly would that help?
What sort of Creator do the proponents of mandatory prayer envision? Only a barbarous God would demand prayers from schoolchildren before protecting them from being shot to death. Is He really so voracious for praise? Is He really so ruthless in extorting it from us? Should we trust such a deity to help us, if He egomaniacally threatens us so — with violence so horrifying that we are loathe to even imagine it?
And if prayer is sufficient to secure this god’s protection, then why do we see shootings at houses of worship? Were the victims there not praying hard enough? Were they just not sincere enough in their invocations?
Finally, why should arriving police wear body armor, instead of only the “armor of God” that their prayers could afford them? Shouldn’t that be enough, according to those calling for mandatory prayer?
Separation of church and state is enshrined in our Constitution. By keeping the government and public institutions neutral in religious matters, it protects the rights of both religious and non-religious people. (Students are already perfectly free to pray voluntarily, alone or in groups, without being prompted by school staff — because the First Amendment protects their rights, as well.)
Church and state are like peanut butter and tuna fish. Either one of those things might be just fine on their own — but not when they are combined together.

“The Infant Samuel,” Joshua Reynolds, 1776
One of my totally awesome MWC alums insisted on picking me up from the oral surgeon Thursday — even after I told him I could get an Uber.
And he didn’t even laugh too hard when I was so doped up afterward that I didn’t recognize him! (“Who is this strange, albeit polite, man greeting me in the waiting room?”)
Good friends are hard to come by, but I’ve got a few.
Or … maybe it WAS a stranger who drove me home. Seriously. This really is a hospitable Southern city and I was high AF.
Before you call Roanoke a small town, remember — it’s got its own ICBM.
I’m kidding. It’s not a nuclear missile. I think it’s a … rocket of some kind? I’m too lazy to google it. It’s outside the Virginia Transportation Museum.
Why do I so badly want it to be a stolen Russian rocket, reminiscent of 1982’s “Firefox” with Clint Eastwood?
Update: I have just been informed by a few people that this actually was a nuclear missile at one point. Apparently what we’re looking at is a Jupiter-class rocket that once held a nuclear warhead? And here I was only joking above …





