Issue 72, Winter 1977
My nephew stands at the door. I pretend to be asleep but it’s no use. “Uncle,” he calls and I feel that identity wrenched out of my tired nerves. I open my eyes and look into his sleepy face, puzzled with questions as he stands before me in his red pajamas, “Tell me again. Uncle.” I breathe deeply and ask, “Tell you what?” “Where you came from.” Once again I explain, whispering in the cathedral of his parents’ sleep.