Waiting for a Letter

July 22, 2008
By Deborah Sands, Merrick, NY

I see the mailman walk up the steps to the house next to mine,
and my stomach begins to flop like a fish out of water.
I press my face against the cool windowpane
and hold my hand against my chest,
so my beating heart does not break the glass.

He’s whistling along toward my house now.
I know it has to be in that stack somewhere
between those bills and fashion magazines.
My palms sweat so much,
someone is going to have to name the oceans they are forming.

Here he is finally!
I race to the door,
I smile,
I couldn’t care less about the nice weather he points out,
all I want is that envelope.
I throw the bills and the fashion magazines on the floor
until I get to the last postcard for some over-advertised real estate agent.
But, no, I must be mistaken,
it has to be here.
My heart drops like a boulder off a cliff, which crushes my anticipation.
I slink back inside,
“tomorrow”, I think,
but now all I have are two things to wait for.

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