Essay by Steven Wingate
Burying my religion to sell a novel? That’s bad faith—or no faith at all.
Burying my religion to sell a novel? That’s bad faith—or no faith at all.
I find the board bearing the bright bloom of my blood and push the splinter into place.
The loss and near-loss of three people in my life in a short span of time were too great to put into words.
When I asked about your tea selection, what I really meant to say was Goddamn you’re pretty.
The boy’s pulse listed as he helped me learn the jerk of the clutch.
Writing has saved my life on more than one occasion, although I didn’t realize it at the time.
Mother be forgotten, buffalo meat cut to strips to dry. The sun.
When my youngest son died by his own hand, my life shattered, and my faith crumbled.
Because our religion always marked us as oddities—the people who didn’t believe in doctors—my mother cringed at anything she thought was not socially normal.
There is real joy in offering and receiving good will and in coming together despite our differences.