Paper Dawn

Letters, written by unsteady hand
on newspaper, margins of "occupant" mailers
blank sides grocery lists,
big  X across the back of a page.
 
One day, I saw it: a grandparent
cross out a whole page, turn it over
and begin a letter.
 
But why?  There is paper everywhere.
Use everything until it is worn out.
 
Depression era adults:
born just as the Twentieth Century
rolled onto newspaper ink;
having scraped by, never bought a piece of paper.
 
When I was on my own, working, 
using paper by the skeins,
I sent my great grandmothers stationary
and scented drawer liners for Christmas.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2014

Poem

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