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

Monday, December 12, 2005

Fragment of An Angel

By Linda Mills Woolsey

Three Postcards from the Cloisters, Fort Tryon Park


As I study gray folds of your stone sleeve
I wonder how the curious scholar guessed
your humbled form angelic. Was it
your face—unmoved beneath the blow
that slashed your marble cheek?
Only the fallen are scarred
like this. At least that's what books say
shaping Paradise
as a dream of permanence.

Perhaps some hint of vanished wings
betrayed you. But your marred shoulder
might just as well have borne
a burden. Your wreck is hard to read
as yesterday's words. Still, you persist,
riddling evangel. And still refuse
to meet the tourist gaze that gropes
for souvenirs
of shattered certainties.


Only a splinter of a host, still
you keep your wingless watch
over the Lady throned
in Langdon Chapel.

Her honest wooden face
looks out, uneasy
at this staring crowd
who bear no gifts.

Her golden shoulders hunch
to shield the headless Child
regal and stiff
in her gracious lap.

The hands that maimed Him
fell to dust. So, too, the hands
that saved these fragments
of God's house,

hiding saints and angels
in the churchyard earth
beside the sleeping dead.

So many ruins, who can count?

Granite grows smooth
and blackens at the touch
of living hands.

Carved birch and alabaster
alike bear wounds
of doctrine and desire.

Your gaze discloses nothing,
judges none.


Now in Cuxa Cloister's garth
the pears blush bronze,
unblemished in exacting light.
Their dense perfection curves
like paradise, complete
as contemplation.

Even here, time glides through every cell—
these pears will bruise and burst
with ripening.

Stone, wood, fruit—all whisper
alchemies of grace
that must dissolve to mend.

Within the solid space they sing
the stones themselves are fragile.


Next: Temporalia