Plough Quarterly Magazine

[.article__paragraph--leading]America’s national anthem – “The Star-Spangled Banner” – is beautiful. But what if Americans could choose a second national anthem – one that would complement the first, and maybe even expand its poetic reach? Maybe the second anthem would be easier to sing?

[.article__paragraph--cap][.small-caps]In Michigan you get[.small-caps] ten cents for returning empty cans and bottles, and my parents used to pull over and pick them up off the side of the road. My mother still drives six miles out of her way for the cheap gas in the rougher part of town, and most nights she eats whatever’s about to go bad in the refrigerator. She’s had the same dishwasher for forty years; the door slants down now, so the dishes slide out every time you open it.

[.smalltext]This article first appeared in the Summer 2021 issue of Plough Quarterly.[.smalltext] [.article__paragraph--leading]They say unto him, Master, this woman was taken in adultery, in the very act. Now Moses in the law commanded us, that such should be stoned: but what sayest thou? … But Jesus stooped down, and with his finger wrote on the ground, as though he heard them not.

Plough is thrilled to announce its inaugural annual short fiction contest, open to writers anywhere in the world. The winning writer will receive a two thousand dollar award and the winning story will be published in Plough. In addition, up to three finalists will receive two hundred and fifty dollars as well as publication in Plough (print and/or online). Plough is seeking short fiction that honors the mysterious nature of reality and finds transcendence and redemption in unexpected places.

Walt Whitman Joseph M. Keegin [.article__paragraph--cap][.small-caps]Homer and Hesiod,[.small-caps] Hegel notes, “gave to the Greek gods their names and their form,” but only the former concerned himself too with heroes. Both of Homer’s great poetic epics open with divine invocations directed at human objects: “Sing the rage of Achilles, goddess,” Homer demands at the outset of the Iliad; “Tell me of the man, Muse,” begins the Odyssey.

[.article__paragraph--cap][.small-caps]Monticello is on a mountain.[.small-caps] From the ridge around the home, forested hills undulate into the blue line of the horizon. Grapevines snake around a long arbor. Lawns and flower gardens surround the palatial home, itself a graceful melding of white Grecian columns and hearty American brick.[.article__paragraph--cap] When I stood there, the air was crisp and clear – an early fall coolness that hadn’t chilled into winter.

[.article__paragraph--cap][.small-caps]There’s a sign hanging[.small-caps] on an old tree in an alley on the east side of St. Paul, Minnesota. The sign is a relic from years past, when the plot of land was overgrown and littered with trash.[.article__paragraph--cap] “No Dumping Allowed,” it still reads.

This article first appeared in the Summer 2023 issue of Plough. No library is just a library. Like many poor families, mine spent a lot of time in the local neighborhood library. It was close enough for us to walk to and my parents would often drop me and my siblings off there to do homework, read, and to grant them some free time. Before we had a computer at home, we used the neighborhood library to type and print papers and generally explore the digital world. I also slept a lot there.

From Called to Community: The Life Jesus Wants for His People, this week’s featured book (ebook free for subscribers). Christian community made my years as an unmarried person very rich – so rich that marriage snuck up on me. I lived for four years in a household on Mount Auburn Street in the heart of Cambridge’s Harvard Square. Depending on the year, four to six post-college twenty-somethings ate together, prayed together, and entertained friends together.

From Called to Community: The Life Jesus Wants for His People, this week’s featured book (ebook free for subscribers). Christian community made my years as an unmarried person very rich – so rich that marriage snuck up on me. I lived for four years in a household on Mount Auburn Street in the heart of Cambridge’s Harvard Square. Depending on the year, four to six post-college twenty-somethings ate together, prayed together, and entertained friends together.