September 16, 2016
Sometimes I open The New Yorker. But mostly the issues pile up, loggish and ready to be lit, in the wicker magazine holder (which acts more like a trash can) that sits on the bathroom floor. I subscribe for two reasons: (1) I’m a sucker for mail–especially the papery glossy stuff, and (2) I like to read the two poems featured in most every issue. When my daughter was a newborn, and I truly did not know what to do with myself, I’d sit on the lanai, open an issue of the New Yorker, and read poetry out loud while she screamed.