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The Mailbox

Originally published in LLL of Texas’s Ten-Gallon Tidings, Fall 1993

I stared out
Past the drapes
Past the tears
Past a layette I guess
I won’t be needing

To the mailbox.

Standing in the rain
The mail van had just come
Probably another sympathy card.

I wasn’t ready
For the walk out
To pull down the door
Slit the envelope
Open my heart
Let the grief flow again.

Maybe in another hour
Or two
I’ll go out
Or maybe I’ll leave
Another “I was so sorry to hear . . .”
For tomorrow.

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