Intended as a repository of photos, poems-in-progress, and news, The Jane Day Reader will blare and babble, bubble and squeak, semi-regularly.
Monday, June 23, 2008
You burst through the door, hot & angry, eager to keen & wail into my ear. Dad-dad telegraphs your refusal to nap at the sitter’s, the entire shrieking ride home, his nostrils already flared by working fires, exhaust & spring’s gritty exhumation with a lifted eyebrow. As you leap into my arms, reeking of dog & incense, your hair lifts.