Kendall Miller

POETRY

“A Psalm for the Summer After,” read by Kendall Miller.

A Psalm for the Summer After

My prayers have thinned out
like the faces of my friends,
familiar and foreign in their sharpness.
I say hello to God at the grocery store,
on weekend trips back home,
In passing and through the telephone.
Daylight emptying on the interstate.
I will find new ways to carry old love:
On my shoulders, around my neck,
in between my teeth.
Affection, clipped and burnt at the end.

“This Isn’t Eden,” read by Kendall Miller.

This Isn’t Eden

but we are trying.

Me and my mother’s eyes
plant a garden on the windowsill.

A friend listens when all I see is the rot,
fruit flies circling the bruised thing in my chest.

People dance as July surrenders to August,
keeping time with beginnings and ends.

Each hour etched with inescapable purpose.
You are still here and that is precious ---

Something to be held in the palm of a hand.

“Dwelling,” read by Kendall Miller.

Dwelling

We are here ---
in this valley of blue,
a congregation in the wilderness
longing to make it home.
Each step a prayer,
that, even now, you are walking
towards another who will walk with you
through the uncertain mist,
towards the face behind every face.

Kendall Miller is a writer from Hanover, Ohio. She’s a recent graduate of Belmont University, where she studied English and Publishing. She currently lives in Nashville, Tennessee with a few of her lovely friends. She’s most passionate about creative writing as it points to truth and beauty, and ultimately hopes to glorify Christ through her love of stories.

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