Leaving
I remember those long newsy letters
from Mom in her cramped handwriting,
filled with details of daily living.
Her hand must have cramped, too,
because sometimes my sisters and I
would get carbon copies.
My aunt, whose four children stayed in the area,
used to wonder why we five girls scattered
from hither to yon, and I’m not sure why,
but I know when we received bright autumn
leaves
sealed in plastic, tucked in the envelopes,
we had a yearning to go home.
I think that was intentional.
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