The Tricks She Played On Her Biographers
Sitting up late at night,
She writes letters to herself -
How well her old friends are doing!
And how the petunias might look
Outside her window
The Colonel tells her how fit she looked
And what wonderful turkey she made;
They must do it again next year…
Although her sister has never been fond of him,
And tells her so
She folds them up into thirds and quarters
And seals them with strange signatures,
Draws flowers on the back of one
From Nellie’s little daughter Sue
Who cannot spell her name
She puts them in little boxes in her closet,
Behind the dresses that no longer fit,
And smiles to think someone will find them -
How strange it will seem to them
She had a life
