The Artist
My little son draws an ocean and above it prehistoric-looking birds. A ship with stick figure men in hats on deck. A sun with lines of heat spoking out. There is a small clump of land, an island, and on it a single palm tree. He adds one, then a second coconut which has fallen on sand. Now nineteen he sits beside me in the car, staring out the window while we drive to college. He wants to be an actor but there’s no room in my skull’s theater. He can’t see behind my forehead the big screen where he stars, a six year old sitting at the table with a father recently divorced who writes...
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