At My Son’s Society Wedding They Seated Me In The Last Row Because They Thought I Was Poor

enough.

He guided me to a corner of the garden, away from the stream of guests.

“You never came back,” I said, and was surprised by how much was still in the sentence after fifty years.

“I wrote to you,” he said. “Dozens of letters in the first year alone. I called the apartment for months. I came back to Denver twice in the first two years, but you’d continue reading …