Five Points Vol. 25, No. 1
Spring 2026Sample Content
Christopher Stewart
Thieves
After the cancer remitted, she took
a permanent respite from a broken body.
A quiet grief settles between us,
like ancient ink on parchment.
We seldom speak about what is gone,
and in the silence it asserts an eerie authority.
Dawn peers through the bedroom window,
exhausted from our journey. Yet, through
the haze, memory rebels. Elegantly
misplaced years linger in the apartment
on Lyndale Avenue, our bodies
a soft tangle, wine still sweet
on our breath. We listened
for footsteps on the sidewalk, Benedictine
sisters on their way to morning mass
at Regina Pacis. We favored
our young lives as living art
only we could describe—the way
we moved in the world, like spirits
in a corporeal aquarelle, paint sweating
from a stolen canvas.