A rusty tin of Anzac biscuits sits on the counter,
Her warm fingers tap on the lid
She hoists the tin into her arms and walks outside
A rusty bicycle sits on the porch.
Her warm fingers grip the handlebars and she rides down the driveway.
She hoists the bicycle up the stairs of the post office,
A rusty tin in her arms
Her warm fingers push open the double doors.
She speaks, “For James Smith”
A lady takes the tin and places it in a pile of Red Cross packages and letters.
Her warm fingers tap on the counter.
Listen to this story read by Joy here.