the letters

The box sat atop her desk,
the lid pried off as her mood saw fit.
the blaze, set, reflected in her eyes.

he had kept them, spanning miles,
she had driven from Wisconsin to Michigan,
every weekend for a year.
the time between, stretched
by hand-written letters.

she remembers her thoughts,
as if yesterday she had sent her heart off
with a kiss on a wing-draped scarf.

Poetry

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