Dear Ellen
If I was a boy, not yet a young man
I’d push some paper into your han’.
Lined and folded it would be,
moving words for you to see.
With thumb and fingers you’d hold it tight,
then angle and raise it to the light.
Clouded words, with love as one
All pushed out by a shining sun.
Was it ever meant to be?
Still they wander within me.
That note, those words, they wander in me.
Still they wander, still in me.
Then I was older, yesterday’s young man
and distanced from your remembered han’
Should wooden doors with bronze mail slots
Have been the place to place my thoughts?
Those unwritten words lived in my head,
Never sent and never said.
Politely they sat for so many a day,
nothing to alter their quiet stay
Was it ever meant to be?
Still they wander within me.
That note, those words, they wander in me
Still they wander, still in me
Now older still, tomorrow’s dead man
Rather than paper I’ll move my han’
To you it goes, open and worn
May yours mend my heart that’s torn
Was it ever meant to be?
Still they wander within me.
That note, those words, they wander in me
Still they wander, still in me.
I'll never know if it was meant to be
She left this life ahead of me
I still hold tight that imagined note
The one with words I never wrote
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 9
Mark Toney
10/2017
Copyright © Jerry Hackett | Year Posted 2017
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