I search and search for the last sympathy card of three I do remember buying a month or more ago. I cannot find it, and wonder if it too was sent and where. And the first two, sent out together like a pair of mourning doves; whose loss made those essential? I remember one, and a cloud of guilty grey decends because I can’t recall the others. They were, I know, people someone loved.
I need one now. Tomorrow I’ll go out and pick up three, the way my mother taught me. Because too, I think the second one is almost spoken for, a whimper barely heard or known but sadly understood.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
This is all fine, but we really just want to know your bra size.