Janet
McCann
BEFORE
THE REUNION
we
are looking
for the missing
alumna, daughter
of Crazy Maisie
and the Bottle
Collector,
whom I remember
very well with
her perky pink
straw hat and
her Marshall
Field bag full
of bottles.
Susan
Smith, says
the yearbook,
was "Kind,
always there
to help you."
A clear American
face, light
brown hair.
Someone on
the e-list
said she had
become a nurse.
She had vanished
into the world
of Smith, neither
technology's
nor memory's
fingers can
find her.
She
was just another
blue-eyed Susan
in the lunch
line, I remember
she told me
she was afraid
of her grandfather's
horses.
I never knew
her mother
was Crazy Maisie.
There are things
you tell everyone
and those you
tell no one,
and in between,
the whole wavering
shoreline of
trust.
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