AIR MAIL
The correspondence she writes is in the shape of a dog
fills them with anecdotes of dressers.
and the first two years of her life spent in a drawer.
We meet in Zürich over a nightmare –
(sleep under an argument).
Travel to Berlin where a priest walks between us.
She promises to write.
Her letters are like a leap year. She writes riddles
about the price of post and serious Marian treaties
only cursorily mentioning the living.
I read her letters like an eating
disorder. I try to decipher the hermetic meaning
of the word Shvod1 in all the margins.
Her last line reads,
“I must beat the walls it is March…”
1 Shvod is an Armenian word referring to the guardian spirits of the home. That would sleep in the walls during the winter.
Leibow Collage Studio 