Dear Celestia,
Winter on the lake.
I wish you could see it
and hear the quiet of the snowfall.
Only a few of us up here.
A skeleton crew.
The cabins are so God-awful cold
and the larder’s full of mice.
I read your letters every night,
until I fall asleep.
I found some old snowshoes
in the clubhouse
and asked around if I could use them.
One fella said they belong to old peg-leg Givens
and he won’t be needing them,
or at least one of them.
Well, we had quite a laugh,
but later I felt bad about it.
I wondered if Givens has the
phantom pain
you hear about,
an ache where a piece of him used to be,
and I got to feeling pretty bad for old Givens,
because that’s how I feel
without you.
Is he missing that old leg?
Wondering if it’s moving on
to have a great life
without him?
Is it thinking of him? (Ha-ha.)
I guess Papa’s probably right—
what could possibly come of this?
Maybe we don’t have to know.
I just know I keep feeling this way,
wishing you were near,
wishing it was summer
all year
forever.
Truly yours,
Peter