Christmas morning provides the occasion for this poignant and vaguely disturbing poem about the sometimes convoluted relationships between mothers and sons.
After an auto accident and a trip to the ER J.R. Reed explores the will of God and the fallibility of modern medicine.
“I’m going to take a Miguelito,” he replied, while holding a roll of toilet paper skyward. It’s 8:55 PM (Pacific) and I’m sitting at my desk, preparing to write this blog post. To my right sits a nearly full 32 oz bottle of Corona. The kind they sell in Mexico. To my left sits […]