Two Lives Ago

She read the letter again slowly.

The handwriting was hers,

recognizable if neater, loopier.

She hadn't exactly dotted the i's

with hearts, but stopped just short.

She'd been nineteen, two lives ago.

 

She read the letter again slowly.

The themes still were hers,

connection, hope, phases of the moon.

She'd chosen blue rice paper stationary,

His eyes were a deeper blue, azure.

She'd been nineteen, two lives ago.

She read the letter again slowly.

The spirit was still hers,

though the man lay long dead.

She had laughed, loved, thrived

without him, as he'd promised.

She'd been nineteen, two lives ago.

...