Anita Tanner
ANITA TANNER {[email protected]} reads and writes insatiably in Boise, Idaho. She is a member of the Osher Institute for continued learning at Boise State University. She has had poetry published in numerous periodicals and magazines and had a book of poetry published in 1999 titled Where Fields Have Been Planted.
Osmond Ward Chapel, Now Demolished
Articles/Essays – Volume 56, No. 1
Sometimes from the thresholdof these doorswe are greeted by another self,another worldwe wish to worship, incarnationthe tithe we offerfor such a crossing: we, seeking the divine,the divine leaning toward us,fading coal of memory igniting into…
Read moreanamnesis: confronting God in the flesh
Articles/Essays – Volume 56, No. 1
Listen the Out Loud version of this poem here. 1. a patient’s accountof medical history,a reiteration of conditionscontracted by mortality,a form of proud flesh’sgranulation over a wound,a raised tissue massdelineating impact to sayhere is pain,…
Read moreThird Place: Penitent Magdalene, Donatello
Articles/Essays – Volume 55, No. 4
Shock of agingin a wooden sculpture—more than yearsdisplayed here,her gauntand weathered faceportraying time had its way—sunken eyes,broken teeth,parched and haggard lips. The cathedralof her handsforms a gothic archbelow her chinsuggesting prayer,her frail body embracedby heavy…
Read moreDivided
Articles/Essays – Volume 14, No. 4
His call came dressed
In honor
As the President grasped
For a handshake,
They Have Closed the Church My Father Helped Build
Articles/Essays – Volume 19, No. 4
where he sawed through his finger
now perpetually stiff,
paid three assessments
Evenings: His Church Calling
Articles/Essays – Volume 19, No. 4
The sound burrs in my head
like a racket of angry birds
swirling from the sky.
He’s gone again;
Navel
Articles/Essays – Volume 21, No. 3
I drive by a red farmhouse
in the setting sun. Orange morning
darts through rippled glass.
High-glossed linoleum
On a Denver Bus
Articles/Essays – Volume 22, No. 4
Out of the cold Christmas streets
we climb to an old woman
raising her scarfed face to us,
scarred and hollow-nosed,
Chokecherries
Articles/Essays – Volume 23, No. 1
Dark berries abound
like full moons;
the sight of ripeness
in sunstruck orbs