Buried Twice
The Map
She was sixteen the year everyone handed her a map of a country she was already standing in, and not one of the people drawing it had ever been there. I think about her sometimes, the woman she became, because she got out, and the getting out took her most
Tickets to the Decline
the President and I are the same age. only one of us threw a party We are the same age, Trump and I. Eighty this year. He spent his birthday building a cage on the South Lawn of the White House and putting two men inside it to beat each
Who Got the Money
The Field
I notice, when the season for it comes around again, that the word we have for the evening is only a word for a crowd, celebrare, the verb the old language kept for the act of thronging, of pressing in great numbers toward a thing until the thing itself is
The Book That Talks Back
I met Carl Jung 65 years ago in a classroom, and I left him there. I want to be fair about it. He didn’t make much of a first impression. He was assigned, which is the worst thing that can happen to a writer, and he came stapled to
The Math Didn’t Care
Human Cockfighting
The Name of the Water
Before the Key Turned
Taking a Break
Burnt Ground turned a year old, and a year leaves numbers. Faith and Rachael have been reading them while I wasn't looking, and the numbers said something I needed to hear. I have been publishing wrong. Mornings, never Thursday. Turns out Thursday is when you show up, more
The Wrong Test
I was raised on a simple deal. A correct answer gets an A. A wrong answer gets an F. There is no third grade, no partial credit for sincerity. The bridge holds or it drops into the river, and the river does not care how you felt about the load