Return

               

Never mind letters to the dead.

What of missives written to the distant, transparent living? 

Questions to distracted mothers who whistle. Regrets 

to thought-furrowed fathers. These

are the forgotten, sweet tooth promises, piñatas
and childhood exhalations.

Old yellow pencils chewed to a scribble – I miss you –

longing that fails to find anyone, anywhere. Cousin

on an East Texas oil rig. West Coast brother in a band. 

Sister who swears she is happy. But adjectives spill,     

            bruises,

            sticky midnight-blue paint

            poured down your windshield.

The mystery of a boyfriend who when broken

sets fire to things.

Remember the inky tension of ash that smudges

your fingers when you reach in to align 

typewriter ribbon.

Remember the cool metal return and the sound

of carriage that rings a fresh new line.

Begin again...

(from The Shape of Caught Water)