i saw her today
the girl i used to be
only now she’s a woman
there is still that pain in her eyes,
that’s how i recognized her in the mirror
but there is so much more there
things i thought i could only imagine to be true
there is love & family & trust & safety & a future.
i used to think things would end before now
my own world would come to a self-induced halt
but here i am, writing
saying those words that i never thought i could say with truth:
i am okay & things will be okay.
from a letter found in a flea market bin
“Washington” wired Mr. Vance Sailor,
“instructed” him to tell her
that her last day would be Dec. 20, 1934,
but she would get “a leave of absence with full pay.”
Or so the cleanly typed paragraphs on FDIC stationary say.
The margins on the pages are straight, no errant ink stains,
and the “V” in Mr. Sailor’s signature climbs the page like a
vine, looping over the “very” in “very truly yours.”
Mr. Sailor wrote his “regret.” Lauding
her “loyal and conscientious” service, he “hoped”
to have the “opportunity” of “expressing”
his “appreciation” before she left,
which is the problem with letters typed so cleanly
so many decades ago: If he did, we will never know.
The storm stomped warning, shaped like a kicked in door, folks in the dark differ.
