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


By Linda Mills Woolsey

In the mud room the mercury's red trace
droops—eighteen degrees, and falling.
The white side yard is webbed and frayed
by rabbit feet and blown snow licks
the wound at the base of the youngest maple.
In the spirea, rumpled sparrows hunch
on brittle stems, awaiting pity's seed.
Why don't they all just bolt—flow
south as fast as wing and foot can fly—
at the first touch of frost? At least
barn swallows have sense enough
to vanish neatly. Even the sun has fled
as far as earth's wanderings allow.
But in their blood these winter creatures know
the turning sky, and stand their ground.
White-tailed deer nuzzle the buried field,
scraping a skin of snow from the bruised edge
of the frozen wood. In the dining room
a furled bud breaks from the green sleep
of the cyclamen, lifting white hands
in the wintry light. In the dark cupboard
beside the sink, a single bulb of garlic sprouts
every last clove bursting madly green.