Two Sketches of My Son
He offers his doll milk, tends to her the way he is tended to: wet kiss, skitter touch, murmur. Before language there is gesture. He holds her— arms wrapped around cloth body, pressed to his small chest— the way I held him in the NICU: fiercely, as if he was bargain instead of grace. \\ He crouches over pinecone and… Read more →