No mail today
NO MAIL TODAY L i l y
I n s k i p - S h e s n i c k y
No mail today, maybe tomorrow maybe tomorrow the wind will carry you and the amethyst ring on your finger will make everything feel right. No mail today, the yellow-breasted warbler has turned red—ate all your seasonal stamps and gone belly up on the front porch. You stuff his stiff body in a bubble wrapped envelope leave him at the post office— an omen or an offering. You received a letter once, yellowed paper, the sender’s name obscured, reminiscent of a dark room a hole a projection of something you’ve never read but soon will.
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