The almost, so-very-lost, art of the letter

I’ve been finding letters.

Long lost letters.

Long saved letters.

Long ago, written-by-hand letters.

As and Es and Is strung together to form laughter and love and pain.

Through my veins runs remorse

then retraction

as I read the letters aloud.

Loopy script

Straight uppercase caps

Bubbled Oooos and lowercase bees

All of them stamps of time and postmarks of personality

Who knew then that you were a poet, dear Friend?

Who knew that you could dance with your words, dear Lover?

Who knew, Mother, that you missed me with an ache you hid away so I would never know

until I, too, was a mother?


Who knew then

what I know now?

Did you?

And I simply

missed it?

Did you know I would read your words aloud

and fall in love with a version of you I never knew?

6 thoughts on “The almost, so-very-lost, art of the letter

  1. Correct, that. The script tells its own part of the story.
    I have a box of saved letters from my departed Dad. Scared to read them, since lately I seem to do anything possible to avoid strong feelings. Oh well, they’ll be there when I heal, barring silverfish.
    Sweet to see you discover things about your mother.


  2. You gave me shivers. I love this post, especially the conclusions and questions you come to at the end. I also love letters, and have two huge boxes of them downstairs; letters my great aunt received and kept during her 97 years and letters and cards I’ve received over the years.


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