I only recognized her crush on me

years later, discovering a card she’d sent—

two sailboats by Seurat, swaying

in dappled water.

 

I felt for the first time

the surging tide of her words.

Swerving swoops of red cursive,

faded to pink.

 

She said she’d been receding

for some time. Her boyfriend

had moved away

to pick up contract work for the Navy,

 

and she’d gotten what she wanted,

without having to do anything.

She hoped that soon

we might get together,

 

ending buoyantly,

“The warm weather is almost here.”

 

I really like the picture.

I use it as a bookmark.