Dear Sir or Madam:

I would like to complain to you about so many things,
like the sunlight that still butters the edges of leaves,
some of which are still green. It’s November; if
everything is going to die, I would rather it be soon.
For weeks, I’ve braced myself for it, and yet, I still
see a flower here and there, hanging in, and its
unwinnable fight hurts me more than if it would
just die already, so I could mourn a little, move on,
make myself ready for ho ho ho’s and the exchange
of good cheer. It takes me a while to make myself
feel that, you know, though eventually I do, at least
a little, even in the worst of years. I am not unmoved
by public sentiment, no matter how frothed it is by
advertisers, manufacturers of things. I like things
as much as the next person, maybe more, and I can’t
lie: I especially like things that are not necessary, ones
that are apple-heavy in my palm and make their own
starlight. I would like the world to turn a little, all of us
to suffer now in darkness and cold, because winter
can’t end before it begins. This anticipation, it’s like
waiting for a blood test, sitting there in an awful room
with a TV you can’t turn off (there’s a handwritten
card that says so, in Sharpie, no less—it’s permanent,
you know), and you can’t imagine that your name will
ever be called, the test ever be done, your blood
remaking itself before you even get up to go home.
You can’t imagine home, not when all of you is
wrapped up in dread, suspended animation.
It’s like that, dear sir or madam.
That’s just what it’s like.

 

For NaBloPoMo, Open Link Night at dVerse Poets, and PAD Challenge, Day 13 (prompt: write a letter poem).

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10 thoughts on “Dear Sir or Madam:

  1. The Diva is Journaling says:

    Love it! Laughing uncontrollably about blood remaking itself before you even get up to go home! hilarious. Have a wonderful evening.

  2. I especially like things that are not necessary, ones
    that are apple-heavy in my palm and make their own
    starlight…my favorite part and i echo the sentiment in it…also like that winter cant end til its begun…there is a simple truth in that….and we must suffer to get through it…

  3. Laurie Kolp says:

    This anticipation, it’s like
    waiting for a blood test, sitting there in an awful room
    with a TV you can’t turn off (there’s a handwritten
    card that says so, in Sharpie, no less—it’s permanent,
    you know), and you can’t imagine that your name will
    ever be called, the test ever be done, your blood
    remaking itself before you even get up to go home

    I love that part… nice poem!

  4. I loved this very much. I read it more for knowing that death of what was, memories, pain, is part of the process of new growth and opportunites. A very elegant write. Loved your voice.

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