The letters still come for Mrs Watters,
who must, at one time, have warmed this house
and lived as we do. Mostly small matters —
the rolled calendar that, had she stayed,
might hang now where I drew the rusted nail,
the catalogues, the last gas bill unpaid —
and always Mrs Watters. So for me
the spirit of the house is feminine,
its whisper of the one who, constantly,
draws letters that assume she has never gone.
On which I weekly write, without conviction:
‘No longer living here. Address unknown.’
Frank Ormsby, “Mrs G. Watters” from Goat’s Milk. Copyright © 2015 by Frank Ormsby. Reprinted by permission of Wake Forest University Press.
Source: Goat’s Milk (Wake Forest Univeristy Press, 2015)
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