Your Mother’s Glasses

Arielle Sutherland is a writer based in the Austin area, where she lives with her dearest but mischievous cat. She is a fan of lavender tea, etymology, and when genres start to blend.

Your Mother’s Glasses 

I was thinking about your mother’s glasses.  You know, the big clunky pair, a red heart  pasted on the corner. She would wear them  to read love letters in the 1980s.  

Vita and Virginia kept a correspondence  after their affair. Lorena and Eleanor sent  over three thousand letters to each other;  I doubt we’d ever get anywhere near that,  even if you factored in texts, DMs, emails.  

I wish I were the type of girl who wore lipstick  so I could stamp a kiss on the paper, bright red  or vibrant pink. I would press violets down  in the folds of books, fill them with underlined  sentences and write notes in the margins for you. 

I want to address you inked in cursive. “Dearest”  or “Ma chérie.” I want to sign off as “Yours truly,”  and wait days weeks months for your response.  Daydream about what we’d do without money,  oceans, and passports in the way.