More on: child

Bible open. On her lap. Same page for years.
Her white hair. Spooky red ink. Deuteronomy.

If there is
a God, is there such a thing

as holy regret for what he’s made?

My mother was the first pianist I ever heard. All through childhood I was spellbound by her gift, her virtuosity. Now I welcome her to my house, show her the grand piano, and lift the lid to its full height and glory. I ask her to join me on the black bench. At ninety my…