Dear Wigleaf,

I would like to send you a postcard. Back when I wrote real postcards, and people sent me postcards, we didn't write them in an email, as I am writing to you now. And the cards would have pictures on them, or random thoughts that either seemed to walk right into what I was thinking or they were sometimes riddles I never figured out. We would write each other stuff that Rilke said. Or, often, I would make a list of painful and telling moments, baring my heart to the postperson and the person I was writing. At this point in the postcard, I would have to scrunch up my letters in order to finish the thought. I might end mid-sentence, indicating that my love/thoughts/wishes, etc. were too much for this little card, and yet, this little card was all I had room for in my frantic, beautiful, early life. 

With love and squalor, or something like that,
(that's an example of the way I used to end my postcards)


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Claudia Smith's stories have been published in many journals, including Sou'wester, Failbetter, Juked, elimae, Night Train, and Wigleaf. Her fiction has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and her chapbook, The Sky Is A Well And Other Shorts, won the New England Bookbuilder's Award. More about Claudia and her work can be found at her site, claudiaweb.

Photo detail on main page courtesy of Florrie Bassingbourn.

Read CS's story, "Valentine."

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