Letter

Abstract

Letter Eileen Bartos (bio) They're tearing off the roof today,your letter said. You wrote from the darkof that half-emptied house, listeningfor the blackbirds and crows that gatherand mock in the overgrown juniperedging into the road. Afternoons you watch for the letterfrom the bishop, in the eveningyou tape paint chips to the bedroom walls.Every morning you climb the steps to the church. Forget shame.Have the workmen pry apartthe rafters. A husband doesn't leave like thatbecause the roof leaks; he leavesbecause he can't lace his own boots. Think of sun, sky, shelter. Thinkof the pink moss rose closed tight all dayin the lengthening shadow of the steeple. You have been looking for Godin the garden, among the cosmosand nasturtium; you have been lookingin the brushstrokes of robin's-egg satin latex. [End Page 155] But no, what if God is likethe crow, rustling unseenin the black sky, black branches,eyeing all that's been overlookedor left behind? [End Page 156] Eileen Bartos Eileen Bartos's work has previously appeared in the Georgia Review. Her story "Grace" was a finalist for a National Magazine Award. She lives in Iowa City, where she is an editor for the University of Iowa. Copyright © 2017 University of Nebraska Press