Contents

Articles/Essays

A Strange Phenomena: Ernest L. Wilkinson, the LDS Church, and Utah Politics



For Ernest Leroy Wilkinson, successful Washington, D.C., lawyer and seventh president of Brigham Young University, campaign politics was a game he could never master. From his rowdy youth in Ogden, Utah’s notorious Hell’s Half-Acre district, where blind eyes turned to cock-fighting and bootlegging, he had been fascinated by the nature and use of power. By the time he was fifty, he had secured a string of hard-won national victories as a tenacious and intimidating legalist. But the lure of politics remained the one attraction, despite other professional and personal accomplishments, he could not resist.



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Fiction

The Mourning After



At least the kids were gone, settled among family for the next ten or twelve hours. That gave him some time to pull himself together, to sort things out before tomorrow, before the rest of…



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Letters to the Editor

Poetry

Brando



Marlon Brando’s such a babe in Guys and Dolls,
it’s an ideal, makes you feel 
positively reverent, same as orange blossoms, 
the way they delicately ask to seduce 



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Sacrament Prayer



It’s the simplicity I like, no pulpit thunder, 
no fiery “Thou shalt nots” rattling the soul. 
A set prayer, phrases you can roll around 
your mouth all week, then string together 



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Double Exposure



The picture gathers from a host of things— 
From giggles of remembering, not play 
By play but one word lifting from another 
Into a rearview record, a happy weather 



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A Body That Expands



My sister sings Puccini in the shower. 
A fever ripped the muscle of her heart 
when she was five but now she is almost 
twenty-one and lovely. She leaves music 



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God With Us



At the baptismal Erma sings “Que grande es El,”
her voice breaking, 
and the woman she has brought to Jesus, 
clothed in white on the front row, weeps. 



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Litany



All night, all day, angels 
watching over me, my Lord. 

And him slipping off, 
letting the door close



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Postcard



I debated hours, whether to send you a kiss 
by the river or the overabundant lips 
of a Rosetti madonna. You get both: See 
the pansies the madonna holds? That’s how I know



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