10/17
Sonnets From Other Lives: Penny

The first postcard she got had come from Greece--
the Parthenon awash in colored lights.
A month later, another one from Nice--
the Promenade des Angles shot at night.
No signature.  No message.  Just her name
& address in an unfamiliar hand.
Was someone somewhere playing some strange game?
--Who IS this? Why me? I don't understand...
In the middle of each month another comes
from Bangkok, Moscow, Rio, Kathmandu... 
& every time she gets a card she plumbs
her memory, but doesn't have a clue.
Anxiety vies with eagerness each ides,
as she waits until another one arrives.