Dear Francesca,

Today was
     bare feet on a cold kitchen floor
        water hissing while waiting to boil
    cats in sleeping curls
        sunlight through half-opened curtains
    quarters into slots for a Sunday paper
        sharp angles of shoulderbones in the bathroom mirror
    chasing Chagall and his floating angels
        melting ice and ginger ale
    a brittle body, but for now it doesn't bother me

Yours,
Hannah Iona