Smelling the musty paper that allowed
the scent of lavender to still tickle my nose,
I felt like a child pretending while grown-ups
sipped tea and spoke of the weather.
Holding the postcard to my chest,
I imagined a lover far away that missed me.
Though the words I could not read,
in my mind the scribble took form.
Shaping into beautiful handwriting,
announcing, “For my dearest love,
time is cruel to keep me from you.”
Simple, elegant, straightforward,
just as a man should be.
Hearing my children stir,
I placed the note carefully back
just as I had found it, with the black
penny postage of Queen Victoria’s profile
facing up, sternly, the way I remembered
my own mother being.
Sifting through her collections made her seem
softer in my memories.
@ donetta sifford 11-22-2013
Written for: The Mag