Searching For- Connie Carter In- -

Tonight I search my own face. I see my mother’s eyes. I see a stranger’s debt. I see the shape of a story I will never finish.

He wears a trucker cap. Reads the paper. I don’t show the photo. I just say her name. He looks up, slow. “She owes me twenty bucks from 1985,” he says. “You find her, tell her I’m still waiting.” Then he folds his eggs into his toast and leaves. No goodbye. No check.

Searching for Connie Carter in the leaving. Searching for- CONNIE CARTER in-

Searching for Connie Carter in the silence after.

Searching for Connie Carter in the ghost links. Tonight I search my own face

Searching for Connie Carter in the static.

I don’t know her. Not really. She was my mother’s roommate for six months in 1986. My mother is dying. She whispers: “Find Connie. Tell her I’m sorry about the coat.” That’s all. No explanation. Just the coat. I see the shape of a story I will never finish

Searching for Connie Carter in the rust.