I have a letter.  It is my most precious possession.
I keep it safe, tucked into the sails of a painted boat
made in China, designed to remind of a seaside lifestyle. 
I don't know why I bought it as I do live by the sea, 
actually, 
though I don't have a 'lifestyle' - just a life.
I painted the cotton sails duck egg blue 
to match cushions I made, so there is 'style' too,
 - not just a housewife. 
There's no driftwood, shells or pebbles I've found
but there's some old furniture that's still quite sound, 
there's distressed cupboards and painted dressers,
patchwork blinds I made from discarded dresses,
paintings bought, likeness caught in paintings on the go,
a writing table and paperback books, row 
after row, after row...
and this boat 
that holds a letter from my daughter to mark my sixtieth year.
Why my 'most precious possession' ?
Is it because it's a validation of all that this woman hoped she was,
because it was.
In my darkest hours, I free it from its sails,
unfurl it
and try to remember this woman
my daughter says she knew.