A stack of envelopes, coffee stained and dog eared,
Banded with an old green elastic,
Cancelled postage from 1992
Demand my memory’s attention.
Everything you once meant to me,
Filed by date in this pile,
Given the same respect;
Hallowed grounds of forgotten pains.
I sometimes contemplate failures;
Junk and jewelry and junk jewelry
Kept in the back of a stuck drawer,
Left for almost dead like a blood strewn battlefield.
My mind is overly creative,
Never to bless my mouth with the right words.
Once slipped off the tongue,
Pull my lips downward in a frown,
Quivering, almost a sob.
Really there is only sadness is this stack,
Slashed, and underlined hurt;
The letters of love.
Unread. Unreturned. Unwritten.
Vast oceans of ink saved,
Wavy lines of communication, scribbled through,
XXXX’d, an exit to my heart.
You would laugh at the imagined
Zip codes and lovers known only to this stack of mail.
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