(for my sons)
One brother suffers, and another brother—
and then a third—is standing by his side.
This is the surest sign to any mother
by which her sons can be identified.
Not eyes of blue that make a sibling’s match;
nor cow-licked hair that sports the same brown curl;
not that they all watch films with Cumberbatch;
nor that they each pursue the same good girl.
One brother has been singled out to suffer.
Here is a certain sign the same womb bore them:
Two more arrive like angels—bigger, tougher.
And for this act of blood, all saints adore them.
Dear Reader,
Can I be direct with you?
War abroad. Socialists on the rise. AI upending human life. Endless uproar online. The modern attention economy doesn’t want readers — it wants users enslaved to the tyranny of the present.
First Things is the antidote: literary excellence, timeless truths, and a fixed point of reference in a culture that has lost its bearings.
But we can’t do it without readers like you.
Our goal: Raise $150,000 by November 1 to sustain First Things in the year ahead.
Your gift anchors readers in the permanent things.
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If you have any questions or would like more information, please contact Giovanni Del Piero, Director of the Editor’s Circle, at gdelpiero@firstthings.com or 212-627-1985.
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