June 1, 2011
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“You are Golden.”

Scribbled on a yellow-stained piece of paper

Wrinkled, crumpled up, worn out

In an envelope, folded once


With an antique red sticker

That’s just about lost its stick

In the otherwise empty drawer

Of the passed down oak wood table

Whenever she needs it

She goes

Takes it out

Opens it up

Reads it

Feels it

Remembers it

Remembers him- Her father

But she will never go back-

She can’t

So she looks down

And reads


“You are Golden.”

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