the evening was a beautiful blue
when i got home from my workday
i went to the mailbox, retrieved a pile
and quickly perused the stack
i saw it quickly and was surprised,
my brother got a "handwritten note"
no return address, i noted,
yet it all returned, flooding back to me,
the pain, the grief, the gladness,
all the stages of grief and life.
i held it up to the light, to candle it,
like a fresh egg from an older time
it was, as i suspected, a sales promo,
for foundation repair or perhaps
for whole life insurance, or some
equally ironic useless instrument as,
my brother has been dead for many years.
i smiled, after the startle had subsided,
knowing, remembering, how my brother
would have reacted, with a wry comment,
and perhaps a joke about always hoping
he'd leave a forwarding address.
i got to thinking...do the dead,
just like us, long for a note, a letter,
some quickly dashed off postcard?
"Having a time of it here, wish we could talk.".
perhaps, a little something
with cologne-sprayed paper,
or a glittered envelope,
or more my siblings style, with
some hot habanero, or heritage
cantaloupe seeds inside. -
just a quick note that says
"You are remembered, and missed".
"i'd like a fifty-cent postcard,
and a book of forever stamps please."
© Goode Guy 2013-05-13