The Last Card She Sent
Had red felt hearts taped
Inside, more drawn beneath, dotting
Each “i” in her name in red ink
A five dollar bill, folded
Flat-ironed crisp
Memory unravels like embroidery
On the pillows she once made
Her design, she said
Little lines beneath those broken
Threads revealed a map, a sein
A pattern, man-made.
She is old now she needs
A little green, a few felt hearts
She is old now she believes
Forgetting is melting with the snow
That leaving leaves nothing--
This little green, these scraps of felt
Nothing remains.
Bio: Antoinette McCormick's publication credits include The Glass Coin, Page & Spine Magazine, and Halfway Down the Stairs, as well as several anthologies. She has just finished her first novel, Waking Rose: A Tale of the Vespertine Territories.
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