Isaiah, who is fond of my diptych of Jesus and Mary, puts it on my dresser. In his other hand he is holding a little plastic accoutrement from his brothers’ box of army men, a brown semi-circle molded to look like a miniature sandbag emplacement. He places this in front of the diptych. “Look,” he says. “Is my Fort Jesus.”
This is How You Heal the Wound
The Subdivision
On the Virtues of Peeing Outside
Imagination destruction
The Things We Build
Our Love Affair With Fairs
Curse of the Greedy Copyright Holders
Boy, the Scout Handbook Keeps Changing
Ya Gotta Have (Real) Friends
G.K., Santa, and Me
How Can I Teach My Kids to Work?
Intelligence Designer
Elective
The Glass Child
Name
The Grace I Know
Coming Apart
Uninterested
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