Dear Francesca,

Today was
  sitting in the thin morning light, smoking
    watching ants frantic on the pavement at my feet

  working, categorizing ideas into concise phrases
    hearing the click of the computer keys as ideas became words

  napping, almost lost in the transition of awake to asleep
    the blare of the alarm bringing me back, pulling

  reading, thinking of how I burn for words

  eating a sticky dessert, fork plunged into pastry
    as I notice my aunt crying and she does not tell me why
    I try not to look at her red face as we leave the restaurant

  writing, these words my refuge in a quiet room, alone

Yours,
Hannah Iona