And in the end, all that is really left Is a feeling—strong and unavoidable— That somehow we deserved something better. That somewhere along the line things Got fouled up. And that letter from whoever’s In charge, which certainly would have set Everything straight between us and the world, Never reached us. Got lost somewhere. Possibly mislaid in some provincial station. Or sent by mistake to an old address Whose new tenant put it on her dresser With the curlers and the hairspray forgetting To give it to the landlord to forward. And we still wait like children who have sent Two weeks’ allowance far away To answer an enticing advertisement From a crumbling, yellow magazine, Watching through years as long as a childhood summer, Checking the postbox with impatient faith Even on days when mail is never brought. Twitter：@camelliayang Website: https://www.camelliayang.com/ Sign up for Chiwi Journal monthly newsletter.

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“What did the council decide on item 42?” — answered with the speaker and the moment.

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