Simeon, that’s a big boy you’ve got on your hands. He looks more like forty months than forty days. He also looks like he knows what you are going to say, and is just waiting for you to say it. As in, Come on, old man. Get on with the prophecy. It’s hard to ignore […]
By late afternoon, he is like a nub of chalk resting in the dusty tray beneath the board, like a tattered screen curled up in its cylinder at the top of its chain. He turns out the lights and watches the classroom fade into its learned dusk, then shuffles down the corridor like a limping […]
The Virgin and the Museum of Natural History
A poem by Paul Willis
A poem by Paul Willis
A poem by Paul J. Willis
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