IT WAS AGAINST CAMP RULES to be out on the water before breakfast, but Pete guessed that his father would be secretly proud of him, and probably relieved too. In the east the sky was turning white, and the last stars were disappearing over the opposite shore. The sun would rise in half an hour,…Read More
Memories—so many people say, “You’ll always have your memories.” But even though my son died almost three years ago, memories of him are almost entirely painful. They are not Wordsworthian “recollections in tranquility,” but sharp stabbing pains that arise out of nowhere.Read More
Jon Henry photographs Black mothers and sons across America.Read More
Our bare hands redden as we work, / he high on the ladder cutting the old / connections, and I drilling / outlet hole through the siding.Read More
The voice of your brother’s blood
is crying to me from the ground.
In our solemn conversations about the firemen, in our statements of unconditional loyalty and trust, I realize that maybe instead of the moral authority of God in our household, I have given Toby the firemen. Brave and noble, yes, but a shabby substitute for the Almighty.Read More
Everything close enough fades
in the coming dark; what’s at a distance,
is there a dove?
I certainly can’t
Leonardo is famous
for hiding things,
Bible open. On her lap. Same page for years.
Her white hair. Spooky red ink. Deuteronomy.