Goddess By Patrick T. Reardon . The Mexican goddess enfleshed in McDonald’s with a wide smile under her wide mountain nose and her children, all girls under eight, alert to the kiosk choices, and her thin husband, studying the receipt and, for no reason, remembering when he was thinner, younger, and stood waiting for work…

Canticle By Patrick T. Reardon . Water-splashed forehead. Product of times.  Cheek slapped, new name, chrism. Child of century. Sign of. . Communion of saints. Myrrh burial. Finger ringed. Deathly afraid. Rolling frenzy. .      Praying the uncertainties.      Intoning the mysteries.      Chanting the doubts. . Frankincense body. All the days of my life.…

Grandma By Patrick T. Reardon . The showers have turned to drizzle. Drops fall heavily now from the black limbs of a bare tree in the glare of the street light. She is tired. She is worse today. Some talk and some smoke and some run for office. She has laughed at the scandals of…

The Tribune writes the Bible By Patrick T. Reardon . We are not afraid of height. During slack summer, we will write a better Bible. . This will be a new Genesis, new Exodus. A chart-able Jesus.  Lots of graphics. Revelations galore. . Clearer language.  Our copy desk will see to that. . Nothing will…

Adman walked south By Patrick T. Reardon . Adman walked south on Leviathan Boulevard toward glitter Loop announcing:      I will anthem sing tomorrow, prophet talk.      I will speak in tongues. .      I will page poems, climb tree, sweep dirt,      change rules. .      Draw the map,      find the Savior, publish…

Odyssey By Patrick T. Reardon . Face of God, name of God, child death in every home, Egyptian, Israelite, Canaanite — let people go — sea split, walled water,  tabernacle and gold god,  "The Parting of the Red Sea" by William Blake frogs, lice, hail, locusts, boils, blood, blood, blood, ten commands,  doorposts, manna, rock water, …

Bourbon Street, New Orleans, the night before the Chicago Bears won the 1986 Super Bowl, 46-10 By Patrick T. Reardon . George could not suppress his animal glee, eyes filled with the sun of the Bears, his blinding trip to the mountain top, as, wife, I hung on best I could . — he knew…

1950s By Patrick T. Reardon . I put my faith in the Cisco Kid riding TV with fat guy (Oh, Poncho!)— through desert as I watch — it’s really happening! . It is as if I watch through God’s own window — just as I watch the World Series and see Lew Burdette reach back…

As if crying By Patrick T. Reardon . Month money envelopes, unlabeled something cans, irregulared clothing, big boy, little kids, duty. . Shoes on sideboard, morning machine. Line up, line down. . Church altar, gold, silver, cryptic incense language, holy storm organ, big boy, gowned, bowed with Latin, little kids. . Face to hands after…

Reporting Jesus Patrick T. Reardon . I wish that Jesus could be interviewed and that I was the one to question him. I wish that he would sit behind his desk, doodling on a pad of paper and talking from topic to topic, as I watched the muscles of his face and the way he…