Devotion

I tried to remember what Sandra looked like: around sixty, reddish hair, a weathered face. Ordinary. Like she might be standing in front of me on line at the supermarket, rather than behind me, her hands on my skull

I was twitchy, impatient. Disappointed, too.

I hadn’t realized talking would be involved. Had I known, I never would have made the appointment.

Being human cannot be borne alone. We need other presences. We need soft night noises—a mother speaking downstairs, a grandfather rumbling in response, cars swishing past on Philadelphia Avenue and their headlights wheeling around the room. We need the little clicks and signs of a sustaining otherness. We need the Gods.

Acknowledgments
About the Author
Other Books by Da

relaxed at all. I had signed up for something called Master