Various and Sundry Poetry


the letters from Simon
the send-off from Tanya
postcards from Gary
a handmade box from my sister
a painting from Kim
the note from Jacquelyn
the thank-you from Dania
the epistles from Jade
the scribbles from Sean
each letter from Kirsten
the plea from Victor
a reminder from my brother
the poems from Jean
the first email from Emily
the bundle from Sherry
the send-off from April
the song from Cara
the Polaroid from Daniel
the note from my mother, via the florist
the airmail from Dad
a smiley face from Laurie
the valentine from Andres
Jen's wedding invitation
Julia's handwriting
a letter from a college professor
the CD from Mat
the music from Matthew
a bookmark from Rebecca
an apology from Robin
the questions from Molly
the book from Tom
a painting from Jef
a joke from Gillian
a secret from Ro


don't tell me you are alone,
swimming in deficit, cracked in two,
raging fists at the life bearing down.

don't tell me there are no miracles left
to witness, no waterfalls, no sunsets, no vigorous moths
churning around a single porch light.

don't tell me the mountain is less than mythic, the view
unspectacular, the walk so vertical it hurts.

if you say the sky is too pale and reedy, the street
too silent, heavy with rotted leaves and ugly tire marks –

if you tell me no one has remembered your birthday,
or asked about your health, or noticed your haircut –

if you claim there are no invitations to dinners out,
no laughter, no ear cocked forward, no sympathy –

if you think there isn't a hand left in the whole world
just for you, this day, this hour when you need it most -

you're wrong.