The Mail

Every once in a while 
an envelope arrives
with your name  

no matter how many calls I make 
no matter how many death certificates  
I send 
someone has decided 
you are not dead 

I say to myself 
“It’s been almost five years 
how long will this go on”  

I pull the letter with your name 
from the stack 
and place it in a separate spot 
on the kitchen table 

I study the false cursive 
with your first and last name  
how they try to make it seem 
authentic 

how the light in the room 
knows the difference  

I have countless index cards 
in your handwriting 
so many recipes you wrote down for me 
that I never tried  

three days later 
I finally open your mail 

as usual, it’s nothing really 
but I wanted to open it anyway 

I wander to the garage  
still filled with a few pots and pans 
and a thousand maps  
you folded precisely back into shape 

I find your red checkered apron  
with a tear down the center 

I pull the thread 
it unravels 
like the long seam of sorrow     

CONNIE POST

Connie Post’s work has appeared in Calyx, Slipstream, River Styx, Spoon River Poetry Review, and Verse Daily. Her first full-length book, Floodwater, won the 2014 Lyrebird Award. Her poetry awards include the Liakoura Award and Crab Creek Poetry Award. Her newest book, Prime Meridian, was released in January 2020.