The envelope cartwheel dances
Into the mailman’s sack,
Tries to decipher its location,
Tries to decipher where I’d sent it.
The words scribbled in no nonsense black
Peek out from the folded edges,
Far too eager to be read.
They wonder whether they’ll be met
With that glassy eyed grin
That precedes the faint sigh
I constantly wish I were there to witness.
But the entire point of these letters
Is distance drawn out by months worth of silence,
And the hope that change shall come indeed
And the hope that our string can communication lines
Shall change only in length,
Never in tautness.
In fondness and patience,
I twiddle letter opener swords in my hands,
Wondering if I’d pounded stamps hard enough to stick,
Wondering if our communication lines shall tether
Onto static interference problems
We’d thought never to be tangled in.
YOU ARE READING
Cityscape
PoetryA collection of poems written in the city. Written for city folk who don't quite belong. And for everyone else who fall in between the cracks of 'here' and 'there.'
