Listen to Kathryn Maris read this poem.
Kyrie eleison! I said it in the pub.
I said it to my bitter, then I said
it to my heart, with nothing not to dread:
my sins were great: I drank there with my love.
Kyrie iesu christe, God above
and me below, drinking at the Hog's Head.
"So. Will you love me better when I'm dead?"
He knew it was no joke and didn't laugh
but turned away to look at the TV.
(Arsenal was playing Everton.)
Another man was fixed upon the game
and held his hands together on his knee
and chanted and rebuked. But not my man,
who recognizes neither loss nor blame.
TODAY IN SLATE
The Ebola Story
How our minds build narratives out of disaster.
The Budget Disaster That Completely Sabotaged the WHO’s Response to Ebola
PowerPoint Is the Worst, and Now It’s the Latest Way to Hack Into Your Computer
The Shooting Tragedies That Forged Canada’s Gun Politics
A Highly Unscientific Ranking of Crazy-Old German Beers
Welcome to 13th Grade!
Some high schools are offering a fifth year. That’s a great idea.
The Actual World
“Mount Thoreau” and the naming of things in the wilderness.