Correction Fluid

Mr. Henderson is a name

on page twelve of the Sun.

Born in forty-eight,

died when the winter was done.

I pulled out the box

from the top of the shelf.

A paper on Gatsby

from my younger self.

His note in the margin

is a long, jagged line.

Red ink like a scab

where he said I’d be fine.

"You see more than you let on,"

he wrote near the end.

I’m thirty-two now

with no vision to lend.