Introduction to "Junk"
I grew up in a tempest of a household. Not the magical and comedic realm of Shakespeare's island, but a stormy place always on the verge of violence. My parents drank, and their drinking led to arguments, and an argument might send a plate of spaghetti flying across the room or overturn a table.
So at twelve,
with a freedom I took as my own to take, I slipped out of the house and
onto my bike and pedaled to self-exile at the local library. The aisle
straight ahead as I entered was formed on one side by the 700s and on
the other by the 800s, so I would grab an armload of art books and another
of poetry books to wait out my parents' drama. I passed hours gazing at
the great art of the world, reading randomly and with a hunger whatever
poems to which luck had led me.