Through Your Notes

Friday

Friday

9.30 p.m.

I search for my poem I put up yesterday. There’s a yellow post-it note pasted at the corner of my poem. It says:

Everybody knows
 Klara Miller.

P/S: Sorry for your lost, Klara.
         We miss him as
        much as you do.

I take down my yesterday’s poem. I replace it with the new one.

My note is gone.

I search for my pen and notebook. I write my reply. I tear the paper. I put a thumbtack to hold my note on the board.

I smile at it.

I take down the post-it note. I put it in my bag.

I head home.

‘Thanks.’