Her inbox pinged and chimed with each new email,
but she didn’t want the forwards, Groupons, or spam.
She longed for a letter, preferably snail mail,
and not another pyramid scam.
We could rewrite this,
clear our history with the click of a backspace,
the swipe of an eraser on a whiteboard.
We could, so easily; we could just forget.
Cold, icy rain falls.
I hold my umbrella up
so I can feel it.
No one was sadder about the left shoe stranded in the middle of the highway
than the right shoe that will never see it again.