Monday, September 12, 2011
Note… -- Poetry 2011
I hate packing up my life into boxes,
but things are looking up. I found this
letter missing for half a decade…
it was a note my mother wrote me.
A time when there was no email;
instantaneous would have been nice.
I couldn’t afford to call long distance;
my parents were on a budget too.
Here I hold her hand written note;
my eyes sweep over the cursive detail.
Well formed, evenly spaced, each stroke
of the ballpoint pen is clear and precise.
I hear kids in school today can’t read cursive.
They print their words or type on computers.
Lacking fine muscle control to move a pen
in well formed, evenly spaced strokes…
their memories will be a backlog of electronically
induced emails or broken symbols of text messages.
So impersonal – messages with no imprint
of the writer’s soul…