by HOLLY DAY
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he was already dead as a doorknob when they found him his head cradled in his arms, phone cradled in his hand he could have been sleeping, dreaming of Saturday except for all the blood. it must have taken unflinching persistence, patience, fear of the time clock tick-ticking in the corridor to complete crunching the day’s sales receipts with a hole as big as a ledger in his chest. |
Holly Day is a housewife and mother of two living in Minneapolis, Minnesota who teaches needlepoint classes for the Minneapolis school district and writing classes at The Loft Literary Center. Her poetry has recently appeared in Borderlands, Slant, and The Mom Egg, and she is the recipient of the 2011 Sam Ragan Poetry Prize from Barton College. Her most recent published books are "Walking Twin Cities" and "Notenlesen für Dummies Das Pocketbuch" and her novel, "The Trouble With Clare", is due out from Hydra Publications late 2013.
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