For Jane
Poetry
Storm Anderson

I dreamt of you again.

I dream of you too often.

But you still spring to mind every mile

I drive alone along the highway

And when I work the late shift

it is your name on my tongue.

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Jane.

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When the blues came

they named you Jane.

And you became one of many

Like Orange Socks. Miss X. Lavender

and Ms. Walker County.

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People gossip about you all the time.

I hear it.

When your whole identity is nothing but a highway sign,

people say whatever they want.

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I heard you’re a runaway.

A drug addict.

A whore.

I heard you were talking to a truck driver in Phoenix.

Begging for change in Miami.

Fighting a man in Memphis.

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I heard you didn’t deserve it.

I heard you brought it upon yourself.

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I heard they pulled your teeth out

And the chemical testing said

you grew up in Puerto Rico.

or was it Ohio?

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I heard it was all junk science anyway.

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I dread a day I may join you Janes.

Yet sometimes I think Jane is better

Because everyone wants to know Jane.

And nobody talks about Tammy Alexander