She cannot remember
Her last good kiss
She told me
While we sipped tea
Out of translucent
Bone china cups,
Her eyes focused
On the red flag
Of the mail box
Forlornly bracing
The wind shaking
It’s stance
She brought her fingers
To her lips as if in
Strange recognition
Then spoke,
“The mail keeps coming
Later and later everyday.”

04/03/1997

Posted on 01/21/2003
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