Hand-Painted Mailbox

A prose poem

One winter, a group of teens went racing
down a country road with a baseball bat and left

a series of metal carcasses
in the snow. One was dark blue

with a large crescent moon covering
half, little kid hand-shaped stars

covering the rest. Its house was dead and empty.

I carried the shape home, dug
through the frozen earth

and planted it there. Prayed
for another family of four.

Twin daughters. The months
were long and slow.

Lily of the Valley rose
in the Spring.

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About mckenzielynntozan

McKenzie Lynn Tozan lives and writes in South Bend, Indiana, where she works as the Departmental Secretary of English and World Language Studies at Indiana University South Bend, and remains closely affiliated with 42 Miles Press, New Issues Poetry and Prose, and Wolfson Press. She previously received her MFA in Poetry from Western Michigan University, where she worked as the Layout and Design Editor for New Issues Poetry and Prose and as an Assistant Editor of Poetry for Third Coast. Her poems have appeared in Encore Magazine, Sleet Magazine, Rogue Agent, Thank You for Swallowing, Whale Road Review, The James Franco Review, The Birds We Piled Loosely, and Analecta; and her book reviews have appeared on her website and on The Rumpus. She lives with her husband, their daughter, and three cats. For more, visit www.mckenzielynntozan.com. View all posts by mckenzielynntozan

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