Look My mother, very Catholic, loves that song: Imagine there’s no heaven. Can you picture it?—my mother joining the chorus of her three churchless children to croon, no heaven, no hell, nothing before or after? Above us, only the universe and its borderless yawn. Only the trees who died for my handwriting, history’s pollen, fields and field hands I can’t stop robbing with money. Today, I woke up on still-stolen land, then scrolled through the latest debris of people attempting godliness in a hundred wrong ways. The room was filled today with light; filled, you could say, with nothing. No
...more
