I Was Holding My Son’s T-Shirt When His Teacher Called And Said He Had Left Something Behind

together, and between them a boy, slightly smaller, the three of them connected at the shoulder and the hip in the way of people who belong to each other.

The work was rough in places. You could see where the tools had slipped, where the proportions were slightly off, where a thirteen-year-old’s hands had done their best and their best had been more continue reading …