He insisted I would always be a poet even if I tried not to be….Despite what I might hear to the contrary the world was not a miserable prison, it was a playground for a nonstop tournament between stupidity and imagination. He had no wings, but I knew he was angel-sent: his laughing beauty illuminated the night and his melodious voice enraptured my ears…. He was at least three years older than I but he looked all ages at once. When it had whirled right up to my window, out of its radiance stepped a naked boy. Over a neighbor’s palm tree a pulsing headlamp came whistling directly toward me. I stood up in my crib and looked into the backyard.
But a more persistent sound, a kind of whirring whistle, spun a light across the ceiling. I remember waking in the dark and hearing my parents arguing in the next room. Before he was three, "Sunny Jim" experienced a transformational visit from his muse, Hermy, which he describes in his autobiography, Coming Unbuttoned (1993): Born to wealthy parents in Modesto, California, Broughton's father died when he was five years old in the 1918 influenza epidemic, and he spent his childhood in San Francisco.
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