Discarded among detritus revealed during this January thaw, I save the note, folding sloppy cursive writing inside itself, protecting these bird-bone delicate, sledgehammer painful words. January rain intensifies driving home.
Inside, my Emma greets me with a smile, silent when I read the note. I hold her. Hug her. Kiss her. After placing her on the mantle with my other pictures, that blue ink smears a bit more. Sometimes, January rain happens inside, too.