Stepping out of the shoe box
written by: Sue McBean
Dear John,
We met over T.S. Eliot. I’ll keep that.
I have the best of you in a memory shoebox.
The worst I set down here.
You lost the equivalent of a person in weight, so I could get close enough to conceive our child, but missed the birth, skipped first Christmas, and gave wife and mistress identical presents, telling us the same story: It’s over, she won’t want the child.
I won’t take the blame for not being good enough. The anger is yours.
Farewell.
Sue
P.S. I’m keeping the granite mortar and pestle, baby photos, and vintage champagne.
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