Emptying Boxes
Two Letters, Seven Years
Beginnings are always easy:
flowers, chocolates,
elegant missives with flowering praise,
affectionate sentiments,
and bad poetry.
For her part,
I was spared the poetry,
but she did dot her “i”s
with hearts.
It was the only time
I saw her do that.
Then email became ubiquitous,
paper nearly extinct.
Writing longhand
came to mean
refraining from acronyms.
It was not just the content-
all business-
but the tone- all business.
The missive of details
was bare,
unbracketed by salutation
or closing,
dry, like the Gobi.
Seven years ago I set out
to cross a lush and verdant life.
In the absence of native guides
I have become lost.
The Sun is my only companion
as we tread toward eternity.