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.

Stonework Journal Home

Letters to the Editor

Stonework Staff

Submission Guidelines

Editorial Philosophy

Our Favorite Links

E-mail Stonework:

  • 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

Saturday, May 31, 2008


~Elisabeth Wenger

Only twelve, and innocent as roses are

of the way they load the air with their heady scent:

I was playing in fields of

the endless summer we had then,

though we did not know it was so until after the first awful snow,

When, suddenly, a crack, a yawning,

and the ground split like an old wound

pulled apart at still-tender edges,

Death rolled out in his chariot,

purple and gold like my favorite crocus.

A grabbing, a throwing,

sudden violence of unknown hands.

Oh I was so cold.

Rowed over a frozen river to the icy

Palace, and I had to tear off my clothes,

Ice-splinters in my fingers, to keep myself warm.

Later, I told my mother I was hungry—

Child belly-rumblings that yearned for those three

Ruby seeds she so mourned.

She was my mother, I did not tell her

About the three red nights;

The first to chain me there,

The third to bring me back (a birth,

The concept of spring for the first time),

But my mother—still wishing me

A child in automatic summer—I didn’t tell her.