Warm Enough by Jan FranThe question I ask myself the most is what temperature is my son
On the days we bake along the coast
I stare up at the sun
As it bears down on us
His cheeks pink, I think
Each week during Australian Poetry Month, a poet walks us through one of their works. Here, the journalist grapples with raising a child in a time of ‘tremendous helplessness’
Warm Enough by Jan FranThe question I ask myself the most is what temperature is my son
On the days we bake along the coast
I stare up at the sun
As it bears down on us
His cheeks pink, I think

Two sonnets absorb with calm clarity a boy’s anguish at his mother’s loss

Our critic A.O. Scott feels the heat of a wintry lyric by the Nobel laureate Louise Glück.

How I flipped the script on memory-making and embraced my children’s sense of wonder about the world

“For all that preparation, the fear remains because some parts of love don’t scale.”

A skin infection, rejection from nursery, a bit of light shoplifting, and to top the day off, a not-entirely-glowing review of my…

When my 22-month-old son died, I had to find a way to make the unimaginable my new — and inescapable — reality.