She had a basket full of note cardsI would have liked to have looked through them —to think about her picking out each onewhat spoke to herI would have liked to have sent them to her friends periodicallyafter she passed away I have no idea what happened to all of those cardsMaybe he kept themMaybe…
It sits there like a lump, compacting more and more, with each new day of neglect. Today it is mortar tomorrow, brick. To keep it soft, that’s the trick.