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
as I read the letters aloud.
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?
And I simply
Did you know I would read your words aloud
and fall in love with a version of you I never knew?