Philip Metres

The Prodigal Sons of Russia

The Prodigal Sons of Russia

Right in front of the staircase leading to the college library doors, a huge vertical bronze wrist leaned slightly backward, its fingers half-opening, half-closed, its palm pierced through with a massive bronze nail. “Here’s the Hand of Christ,” I told Victor. I searched his face, wondering what he was thinking about our Catholic college replete …

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