Continued The Correspondent
Sybil Van Antwerp
To Ms. Van Antwerp,
I couldn’t see how you knew it was me writing when I never left my information. I thought about it for a long time, it drove me crazy, and then I see it’s simple. You remembered. You expected hearing from me. That surprised me really.
Your eyes were cold and dead. Cruel. But I saw a photograph of children on your desk.
I did not understand—were you a mother? I thought you were an evil witch.
I remember. But maybe I see now you remember too, and that surprised me.
You said for me say what I needed to say.
For my life I have hated you. You grew into an enormous thing in my mind.
It surprised me driving to your home. It is a pretty house and you look out to the water.
It is not very large but must be expensive.
I know about real estate. I saw you in the window sitting at a desk.
I was watching you for a long time. How tiny you are, and you had a mailbox in the shape of a fish and a wreath on the door, these nice things.
I hated you for such a long time, but you were just a small old woman and I was lost. I didn’t know what to do so I cut the flowers. This didn’t help.
Dezi Martinelli