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…


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