Happy b’day, Ma!
The three faces of Jane. You look so mysterious in the first photo. I want to know what you were thinking. Did you know I used to see you everywhere after you died? I’d see your face in others’ faces. It was as if you’d flown into their bodies, flown into their skulls, and were inhabiting them with your wild Irishy spirit, your mischievousness peering out. Like that clay incense burner you had, the one shaped like a grinning imp, where the incense burned and