About Joanne Lowery

Joanne Lowery’s poems have appeared in many literary magazines, including Birmingham Poetry Review, Eclipse, Smartish Pace, Atlanta Review, and PoetryEast. She lives in Michigan.

Vestments of the Unbeliever

First he dons a long alb woven from one hundred percent skepticism. Next a sort of sleeveless cape: the chasuble of doubt. An atheistic neck pivots the stole that hangs like twin scarves celebrating various seasons of mortality. The same neck (for he has only one to risk over and over) fills a short stiff collar buttoned invisibly in the back. Thus attired the unbeliever serves questions and performs answers. He understands looms and can explain historically Jesus’ seamlessness.

Feeding the Unbeliever

On what sacred platter does history serve an agnostic meal? What the unbeliever wants is to be the consumer instead of the dish. This is the most human of our needs: to fill the inner pit, keep the fire burning in every splendid cell. But life has become Swiss cheese with an emphasis on holes. Knowledge pulls apart like lettuce. Beauty is lace gusting at the window. What the priest holds outstretched is a manmade miracle. Like the faithful, the … Read on…

Eucharist for the Unbeliever

Squinting at a jar of pickles the unbeliever wonders what is true, if a unique blend of spices indeed awaits him. He knows what to do, which of the can opener’s ends will pry the metal lid, spirit escaping. Therein: bodies and juice. In the priest’s white-fingered pinch the wafer used to look full of promise, unleavened by doubt or brine. Its taste was paper on which to write every frailty, another chance for good to sustain his mazy journey. … Read on…

Autumn Unbeliever

On Sundays he takes to the woods where every mortal step pushes countless acorns closer to a life of their own. Nor can he enumerate the odds, chances and possibilities that float past on their golden sails. Maybe this slow death (his slow death) occurs law by law. Surely no divine hand separates stem from twig, one by one, or his life one day at a time shorter. With his whole heart he has faith in winter, that monochromatic season … Read on…