In 2017, I lost two grandparents within months of each other. With my 嫲嫲 (paternal grandmother), the news was not unexpected. She had been ill for quite some time, slowly deteriorating in the hospital…
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We first wrote “twelve hours of daylight” in 2016 as part of an anthology (FEAST) of spoken word poems that are still unpublished. Like most of our work, we take our deep love of the scriptures and weave them together to speak to current realities. In this particular poem, there are a few references to cities, including Vancouver and Montreal, where we were living at the time of writing…
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Christmas 1914—it was only five months into the First World War. Cultural memory remembers this war as senseless and wasteful, ending an era of stability for the West. I was taught in school that this was the war that disabused the West of their own civility in war—with the introduction of chemical warfare, machine guns, and far more powerful artillery than the world had seen up to this point…
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We were five minutes into the woods, less than ten minutes away from a busy street. All I could hear were the ins and outs of my breath, the soft crunching of snow beneath my feet, the blowing snow, and the sound of squirrels chattering, when, suddenly, blissful silence. Not even the whistling of the wind could be heard…
When the news of the national security bill had indeed been passed in Hong Kong, my stomach dropped through the floor. The last few months had already had me on tenterhooks, a low thrum of tension and scraped nerves—through the protests and the violence and the thought of home in such utter crisis…
I did think for about two seconds that I might write a piece commenting on the peculiarities of the Hebrew in the text. But these last few months I have thought a great deal about the decline of the evangelical church in the West.
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