Dearest Regards from Africa

Today I got the postcard you sent in the mail,
the one with the zebras standing in tall, lank grass
and the unsympathetic, saffron sun beating down.
I flipped it over and read about all the kind work
you and your boyfriend were doing for the children,
gratified with the good deed of aiding the infirmary
and hopeful for how you needed more helping hands.
You wrote how his little girl was starting school soon
and that all public education was free in Ghana.
You took a safari to Mampong, deep into the savanna,
into the low bush and the perpetual grassy plains.
You spoke to me of lions and elephants and hyenas,
yet the oceanic humidity had left you unwell.
Still, I could sense you were blessed and blissful.
You apologized and wished me a happy belated birthday,
and you asked how I was doing and if I was happy.
I did have a lot to say and I would have sent one back,
but you always knew what was really on my mind
and you surely remembered what home looked like.
But even though compassion bled through in African ink,
as I read to the end, I realized this card would be my last.
Written in your own, always unique, penmanship --
"I hope you're happy, like me. My dearest regards, E.E."