Guest Contributor

Two Poems by Darlene O’Dell

Quiet, Piggy

Though the slur also concerns chickens
and eggs and which came first—
did the master create the puppet
or the puppet the master?

suppose, for instance, one posits
an argument for compassion—
the bare minimum, as in let’s not
disappear people and torture families

a few crumbs under the table
hardly enough for a dog and a widow—
let’s not torment the targeted
and call it Jesus

Executions of Women in Iran in 2026: The Human Cost of State Violence by WNCRI

Today, October 10th, 2026 is World Day Against the Death Penalty

Mothers, Child Brides, and Victims; 54 Killed in 12 Months

As the World Day Against the Death Penalty is observed, the situation of executions of women in Iran presents a horrifying picture of the scale of structural violence against women.

According to information documented by the Women’s Committee of the National Council of Resistance of Iran, at least 28 women have been executed in prisons across Iran since the beginning of 2026. Over a twelve-month period, from October 2025 to October 2026, the number of women executed in Iran reached at least 54. This shocking figure underscores the continued use of the death penalty against women.

These figures have been recorded under circumstances in which, following the nationwide protests of January 2026, months of widespread internet shutdowns, severe communication restrictions, and extensive censorship made the flow of information from inside Iran to the outside world extremely difficult and, in many cases, virtually impossible.

How I Have Been Influenced by Poet Ellen Bass by Charlotte Donlon

“When You Return” by Ellen Bass

Fallen leaves will climb back into trees.
Shards of the shattered vase will rise
and reassemble on the table.
Plastic raincoats will refold
into their flat envelopes. The egg,
bald yolk and its transparent halo,
slide back in the thin, calcium shell.
Curses will pour back into mouths,
letters un-write themselves, words
siphoned up into the pen. My gray hair
will darken and become the feathers
of a black swan. Bullets will snap
back into their chambers, the powder
tamped tight in brass casings. Borders
will disappear from maps. Rust
revert to oxygen and time. The fire
return to the log, the log to the tree,
the white root curled up
in the un-split seed. Birdsong will fly
into the lark’s lungs, answers
become questions again.
When you return, sweaters will unravel
and wool grow on the sheep.
Rock will go home to mountain, gold
to vein. Wine crushed into the grape,
oil pressed into the olive. Silk reeled in
to the spider’s belly. Night moths
tucked close into cocoons, ink drained
from the indigo tattoo. Diamonds
will be returned to coal, coal
to rotting ferns, rain to clouds, light
to stars sucked back and back
into one timeless point, the way it was
before the world was born,
that fresh, that whole, nothing
broken, nothing torn apart.

This poem appears in Ellen Bass’s book “Like a Beggar” published by Copper Canyon Press in 2014 For more information on Ellen Bass and her poetry go to her website https://www.ellenbass.com/ Poem posted here under “fair use” guidance.

While warming up beside an enormous stone fireplace with a dozen other writing workshop participants in western North Carolina, I listened to an instructor read the poem “When You Return” by Ellen Bass. I had come to the retreat wrung out from church trauma and the ache of not knowing where I fit in anymore. As the flames crackled and spit, the reader spoke words that singed the edges of longings I hadn’t yet noticed—longings for crooked paths to be made straight, for broken things to be made whole. I was crying by the time he recited the last few lines— “the way it was / before the world was born, / that fresh, that whole, nothing / broken, nothing torn apart.” The tears surprised me; a snowmelt after years of frozen longing that finally began to thaw.

Spiritual Direction for Writers by Charlotte Donlon

I fell in love with poetry when I began graduate school for my MFA in creative writing. Looking back at the poems I was reading and writing ten years ago, I can connect the dots among my relationship with poetry, my faith, and my rejection of the patriarchy.

Most poems felt like prayers to me back then; they still do. I often say the word “poem” when I mean to say “prayer” and “prayer” when I’m trying to say “poem.” Half the time I don’t even notice that I’ve misspoken because the words and what they represent are so tightly woven together. If I don’t sense much of a personal connection to the themes of a poem I’m reading, I view it as I view a psalm that doesn’t feel especially resonant at the moment–I know that somewhere someone will feel seen and known by the words, and I am in some sense reading on their behalf, as I hope that on my harder days, people are reading and praying on mine. I trust the collective, the mystery, the power of words to connect souls and minds across time and space.

Putting myself in the way of poetry became a spiritual practice while I was struggling to find my place in the conservative evangelical denomination my husband and I had been members of for almost 20 years. We had engaged in conversations about women in the church, racial healing, mercy and justice—topics that we viewed as intimately connected to what it means to be a Christian in our everyday lives. We pushed for change. We led small groups without shying away from difficult conversations. We brought in speakers and coordinated film nights. We tried so hard to make our local church something it wasn’t–something it would never be.

Lips Sealed Unsealed by Claire Taylor

My Grandmother, Bernadette Mary Claire at her first communion.

My name is Claire Taylor. I’m seventeen, and I was named after my maternal grandmother’s confirmation name, the Catholic tradition of giving someone a saint’s name at first communion. Her full name was Bernadette Mary Claire Szafranski, so you can tell religion was a big deal in her life. I was raised in an agnostic family with basically no spiritual life, but for the last six years I’ve gone to Immaculate Heart, an all-girls Catholic school in Los Angeles. And I love Catholicism.

I love the singing and the psalms, the traditions, the Bible stories, and how my teachers push me to actually think and argue about things. But something bothers me: my grandmother grew up Catholic and then left it, raising my mom with no religion at all, and my own school was founded by sisters who, in 1968, had to choose between staying under the archdiocese or keeping their values: social activism, feminism, progressive theology.

Mary as Sister, Trickster, and Mother by Elanur Williams

The road to the House of the Virgin winds through the hills, a thin ribbon of light. Nestled on Mount Koressos (also known as Bülbüldağı, Turkish for “Mount Nightingale”) near Ephesus, its discovery in the late nineteenth century was inspired by the visions recorded in The Life of the Blessed Virgin Mary by mystic Anne Catherine Emmerich, whose descriptions led priests to identify the small stone dwelling she saw in her revelations. Although the Bible is unclear about Mary’s later life, passages such as John 19:26–27, in which Jesus entrusts his mother to the Apostle John, lend narrative weight to the belief that she followed him; whether to Ephesus or elsewhere, this is a matter of faith and ongoing historical debate. For many, the House is a place of pilgrimage and serves as a symbol of interfaith devotion across centuries. At the wishing wall, candles and paper flutter in the breeze, small, tangled petitions to the divine. I feel my own within my heart as I light a candle among the others, its black wick catching the wind.

Iranian Women Trapped by War, Poverty, and Domestic Abuse by WNCRI

The war and intensifying economic crises in recent months have exerted the greatest and most direct pressure on Iranian women, placing them on the frontline of vulnerability as the psychological resilience of families sharply declines.

The inevitable consequence of these conditions is an unprecedented rise in domestic violence against women, a violence that increasingly manifests in complex psychological, emotional, and economic forms, severely jeopardizing both their physical and mental safety.

The Changing Face of Domestic Abuse Under Economic Stress

Livelihood pressures, severe economic insecurity, and war-induced anxiety have fueled an escalation of abusive behaviors against women within the home. While domestic violence was once primarily recognized through physical assault and battery, women now constantly face emerging and pervasive forms of abuse, such as systematic humiliation, threats, extreme control, deliberate deprivation of financial resources, and continuous psychological distress.

Are We Talking About the Same Mary? by Dr. Christena Cleveland

Though we often assume that Christianity was introduced to Africans after colonial enslavement, groundbreaking work by historians such as David Daniels unveils the truth that many African communities practiced a version of Christianity while still living on their ancestral lands Prior to the transatlantic slave trade, the Portuguese established Catholicism in the Kongo, and many Kongolese made magic by integrating the most life-giving aspects of Catholicism with their Indigenous spiritualities. Specifically, many Kongolese Catholics nurtured a deep devotion to the Virgin Mary, elevating her beyond her diminished status as an unassuming and relatively powerless “servant of God” to co-chief of Christ and a goddess in her own right. Despite the patriarchal teachings of the Catholic Church, the Kongolese drew upon an Indigenous cosmology that affirmed the divine power of women and embraced the Virgin Mary as an emboldened Christ figure who possessed all the powers and grace that Jesus and the Father possessed. They implicitly understood what Black Madonna devotee Mirabai Starr would teach over 250 years later: She is “. . . the quintessential Mother, the feminine face of the Holy One, fierce protector and gentle consoler . . . She refuses to be defined as the passive, obedient handmaid of the Father. She is the radical, powerful, engaged Mother of the World.”

Slippery tongued Witches by Claire Bullion

“It is still Eve the temptress that we must beware in any woman” St Augustine (354-430 CE)

I’ve been annoyed recently by suggestions that the ‘feminization’ of institutions involves increased deceit and manipulation because of an inherent deviousness to be found in women. Why is the idea of the manipulative woman still so powerful in our culture? When 165 of the 193 countries with UN membership are led by men and the top 10 richest people in the world are all men, why are these manipulative women doing so badly? Are men manipulating women to think they are manipulative? Both Helen Andrews (2025) and J. Stone (2019) in their essays, which insist that the increase representation of women in institutions is ruining the world, quote the work of Harvard Lecturer Joyce Benenson as evidence of this inherent feminine deviousness that needs to protected against.

“Woman, by her nature, is the instrument of the devil. A woman’s voice is the hissing of the serpent” Pope Urban II (c.1035-1099CE)

Faithfully Dissident Daughters by Chelsea Kim Long

At 28 weeks pregnant with twins, on a gorgeous summer day, I looked in the mirror and marveled at the way my body had expanded to accommodate the two lives within. I was proud of my body, proud of myself. I put on a black, lacy bralette with matching underwear and threw a lightweight open front kaftan on top. I set my phone on a self timer and took some beautiful shots of myself. Sitting on the bed. Standing in front of a mirror. Next to the crib, looking down at my belly.

The lighting was perfect; I felt ethereal—like the definition of a glowing pregnant woman. Pregnancy is magical for about 2 seconds out of 9 months and I was basking in them. I thought about God as Mother and smiled at the way my body reflected the image of God. I uploaded a photo to Instagram. Positive comments started to come in right away.

A few minutes later, my husband Colby walked into the room asking, “Did you just post a picture of yourself wearing a bra? That’s really weird.”

My heart dropped into my stomach. He had policed my outfit choices before, and it wasn’t worth the conflict to bring it up. This time felt different. This time I was carrying a baby girl who would be a sister in a family with two brothers.