October 20, 2014


The mailman approaches,
his truck full
of trumped-up bills,
come-ons, flyers.
I've grown old, 
awaiting his arrival.
Each day, he brings
new requests
for my attention:
Do Not Discard!
The Courtesy
of a Response
is Requested.

He stops
at my box 
on the street,
bearer of bad news,
still thinking
it's not personal.
Come closer, I say,
open me up, unfold
my most secret page,
see if I still remember
the reply
you're looking for.