Diane LeBlanc
Papyrophilia

In my next life, let me be cotton rag paper.
All fiber and fade-resistant.

Tear me. Wet me. Ink me.
Choose me to announce your everything.

Find in me my grandmother’s house dresses
missing belts and buckles, pockets and butterscotch.

Then trust me with stories debossed in ten-point pica
deep enough to read in the dark.

I’ll carry the words you send then wish to unsend.
The one that outlives your regret.

Find in me old rain and new rivers
washing away the silt of this life.