Mary Soon Lee
In a cardboard home
decorated by her children
she sent my daughter
four wooden mice,
like the wooden mice
we played with ourselves
when we were school friends.
I remember the spaceship
we built for my mice,
and rooms laid out
with domino walls,
tiny padded armchairs
pulled up around a fireplace,
cups smaller than my
thumbnail.
I remember a rope swing
stretching to the sky
in her grandparents' garden;
the chocolate cakes
her mother baked;
and how she visited me
every day for a week
when I had chickenpox.
Poet's Notes: Rachel was one of my best friends when I was growing up. We still
exchange Christmas cards and occasional emails, but haven't seen each other in
a long time. (My fault, for moving to America.) I was very touched when Rachel
sent my daughter little wooden mice like the ones we played with years ago,
together with a cardboard mouse house that her children had decorated. I regret
that our children have never met each other.
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