She stood on the muggy corner
Of that All-American town
Swarming with foreign accents and tourists
But she didn't notice any of that
She was staring down the mailbox
Cold, blue metal with the words
U.S. MAIL
Running across the bottom
The bottom of her skirt fluttered
in the sticky wind
And Her fingers fluttered nervously
Clutching the white letter
She chewed on the once perfected nails
long since destroyed and forgotten
The wind tangled her fading curls
Her hand seemed suspended over that metal box
Not quite ready to let go
