Contents

A Notice to My Mailman

The letters will stop coming. 
Cerulean envelopes, the ones
with stickers on the outside 

in places the post office
really shouldn’t allow, like
the front, next to my name: 
the heart stickers. 

I know you like the stickers. 
You place them in my mailbox
smiling, and you shake your head 

especially when they are sparkly. 
But the letters will stop coming. 

You see, I started sending my replies
through birds and morning fog
and running feet sounding 

when the path is drawing to an end
and you are tired
and you want the end. 

I am sending them 

in spider webs heavy
with milky tears— 
I sent one yesterday. 

It was a half-finished crossword puzzle
on the side of the road.

                                                             
I don’t think she noticed it was there.

About the Author

Elizabeth Schoppelrei is a senior at Wright State University. She is a Spanish major with minors in both creative writing and German as well as a certificate in women’s studies. She enjoys the way in which writing allows her to express her intersecting identities and creates space for discussion regarding the Queer community.