Email Poem

Your IP Address: 216.73.216.98

From Email:	Required Email Address Not Valid.
To Email:	Email Address Not Valid. Required
Subject	Required
Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem	She woke me up at dawn, her suitcase like a little brown dog at her heels. I sat up and looked out the window at the snow falling in the stand of blackjack trees. A bus ticket in her hand. Then she brought something black up to her mouth, a plum I thought, but it was an asthma inhaler. I reached under the bed for my menthols and she asked if I ever thought of cancer. Yes, I said, but always as a tree way up ahead in the distance where it doesn't matter And I suppose a dead soul must look back at that tree, so far behind his wagon where it also doesn't matter. except as a memory of rest or water. Though to believe any of that, I thought, you have to accept the premise that she woke me up at all.
	Type the characters you see in the picture Required