Son, Father, Penis
This longish essay is an excerpt from a memoir-in-progress. I’m grateful to Andrew Snee and the editorial team at THE SUN, for the beautiful care they take with my work (they also published an earlier excerpt, “The Count”) and the work of other writers and artists. This particular essay was difficult, even painful to write, and I cannot bear to read it again, but I hope that you will, and subscribe to this remarkable magazine, so deserving our our support. (No ads! Just art). I am dedicating this essay, ‘natch, to my son, and my family, and those glorious boys Gavin, Zachary, and uncle Ashton (smile). Special thanks to Resea Burns , who patiently listened to early versions of the essay and offered loving support, and to Joelle Fraser, who helped whip it into shape. I love the art of ANITA SAGASTEGUI, whose photo (I am seeing it for the first time) is so appropriate, and, for me, evokes boyhood in a powerful way–that half moon from chin to shoulder is an entire world in itself. I’m grateful to my cousins Ron Shari Pierce and Ken, and to my father’s brother Ron, mentioned in the story, and to the city of Yonkers and the Bronx, where much of it takes place.
Not long ago Tim Suermondt called my attention to Mercurius Magazine one of the hot new lit mags generating some buzz and making it new. On Tim’s suggestion, I sent them some poems on the surreal absurdist slant side and they are featured today at Mercurius. Please check them out. And many thanks to Thomas and the gang and of course, to Tim Suermondt.
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