Dear Xoxo,

I've stopped weeping enough
to look against the skyline
that stares it's way into my room
everyday and be thankful.
      For what,
      I'm still searching.

The petunias and gerbia are
blooming and mother told me
you put special fertilizer down -
they're so beautiful.
     Wish I could send
     a photo, no matter the
     cost, though you might
     not get it, or this letter.

Mother isn't angry at you
anymore, but my feelings can't
be swayed so easily, settling
on being content with you leaving me.
     Justifiably, I can't
     justify your choice.

Am I supporting you by
penning this? I don't
know; swinging on the old
bough out back isn't fun anymore.
     I can still hear
     my laugh, see your
     smile glimmer bright
     in moon's light.

Papa says this war is
important - guess it's more
important than our wedding
day, our life together.
    You left me so easily.
    I swear my chest collapsed.

Mr. Hannington said he'll
still give us his old Ford,
please come back home -
don't leave me a widow before the fact.
      There's more boys
      in town;
      there's none that
      has my heart.

Shootin' raccoons and rats
is better than killing
them Japanese, no matter
if they're the enemy; they're human.
      I'm promising myself
      I won't ask about who you killed.

Don't have them, please,
please, kill you. Come back
alive, I beg of you. I'll never agree
to this but I agree to be a good wife.
      With baited breath,
      Rachael Mills
      PS - I love you,
      so much.