The Mailbox
Used to love walking to the mailbox
with its promise of a letter from my mother.
No matter that the letters listed doctor
appointments and health reports
marking my parents’ decline. It was still
a note keeping me attached
to the last place I called home.
Outside of magazines, most mail
goes into the recycle. Not too many bills,
they come in emails. Occasionally a note
from someone thanking me for my donation.
Frequently, the black mailbox lingers empty
as if waiting for the weekly letter.
Writing in women’s voices 2023
