Previous Issue: Spring/Summer 2010

Dear John Letter  
Sara Tracey

You were copper wire,
timpani, salmon flesh.
Bowl of corks, cigar
cutter, clover and lilac.
A china doll. A soup tureen.
You were six days
from forgetting. Now—
now you walk my
cobblestones without me,
speed dial my number
when it rains, when your father smiles,
when there is nothing at all left to say.
I'm a sleeping pill, thumb tack,
petticoat. Steam engine,
paper shredder, hickory smoke.
I am three days from turning away.

Sara Tracey is a poet and teacher in Chicago, Illinois. Her chapbook, Flood Year, was released by dancing girl press in September 2009. Her work has recently appeared in After Hours, Arsenic Lobster, Hiram Poetry Review, and Harpur Palate.