By Sharon Olds
A prejudice is an addiction, and it’s
contagious—parents infect their children.
And addiction’s obsessive, if a man finds it
difficult to show his love to his
son, it may be because his father
escaped with his life from the village in which
his own father had just been murdered
in a pogrom, his model as a father
a man in terror.
But addiction to such a silence can be
healed, as Carl and his son tried to do,
through hard work. Workers of the world,
unite, we have nothing to lose
but the death of the earth.
I had a fairly quiet Tuesday morning, got some work done, found some music clips from the Grammy Awards, and got some amazing photos from younger son of things he saw above the Arctic Circle in Alaska, including the aurora borealis on several nights. (Older son was trying to persuade me to play God of War: Ragnarok, or at least telling me about the mythology.) It drizzled on and off, but not when we went to walk in the afternoon. Most of the friends in my Voyager group were running late, so we ended up not watching, just chatting and catching up.
After dinner, Paul and I watched Gran Turismo, which I enjoyed -- not usually the case for me with movies about car racing, but I knew the main character in this one did not die in a fiery crash, since the real person stood in for the actor playing him in certain scenes. It feels kind of formulaic even though it's based on a real story, the underdog outsider triumphing, but it's still entertaining. Now we're watching Netflix's Alexander: The Making of a God to see if it's better than Oliver Stone's version. Signs of spring at Green Lake: