The Ghost Of A Boy
You can belong to yourself, but it’s lonely, and you can belong to others, but there’s loss built into that, in uncountable forms.
You can belong to yourself, but it’s lonely, and you can belong to others, but there’s loss built into that, in uncountable forms.
Over and over I have discovered that my children feel alienated in environments where, at their age, I felt an automatic sense of belonging.
We asked Richard Williams, THE SUN’s poetry editor, to assess the literary magazines published in and near Chapel Hill.
I bow to the pencil, the pencil maker, the tree that gave its wood, the graphite that fills its core, and the mind that conceived pencil. I bow to all the teeth and jaws that have chewed pencils out of boredom or nervousness.
There isn’t really a reset button for life — a switch you can hit, after you’ve gone through something terrible, that lets you go back to the beginning and start over. But there should be.
I lie on the couch in the living room and feel a deep sense of shame, because I’ve increased our debt by getting sick.
Do I need to go into what turns an eleven-year-old into such a stoic: embarrassed to be sentimental, determined to be detached?
