The Letter

…

The faded beige curtains are half-drawn

and admit a little weak winter light.

Steam lifts from a mug on the old pine desk

and leaves a fine mist on the window.

…

The envelope sits in front of it.

…

She sits, eyes directed outward

at falling rain

before flicking down to the envelope,

where they rest for a long time.

She bends, and places a hand

on either side of it.

…

Slowly, she begins

to open the envelope

with shaking hands.

The wall clock ticks

too loudly.

The letter is handwritten

on thick, smooth paper.

…

Her eyes flick rapidly across

the page, then abruptly

stop.

She breathes slowly

and deliberately.

…

Her eyes lift to the window,

mapped with raindrops—

one drop among many

is sliding a jagged route

down the glass.

…

She watches it fall

to the bottom

and

…

it’s gone.

…

---

…

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