"Dearest,
where ara your letters?
The mailman is an impostor.
He is actually my grandfather.
He floats far off in the storm
with his nicotine moustache and a bagful of nichels.
His legs stumble through
baskets of eyelashes.
Like all the dead
he picks up his disguise,
shakes it off and slowly pulls down the shade,
fading out like and old movie.
Now he is gone
as you are gone.
But he begons to me like lost baggage."
Anne Sexton
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