You folded a shirt until the seam sealed a sentence.
Each crease was a stamp pressed shut — fold, press, set aside.
You stacked them: unmailed pages, tidy and unread.
In the kitchen you didn’t ask for sugar; your finger traced
our small circle for second helpings —
a gesture still carrying its own grammar.
Silence opened a bureau in the hall: drawers labeled
with answers I had kept for you — thin slips of paper
I never dared to send.
I remembered your hum before breakfast:
the soft tuck of paper into an envelope,
a sound that promised delivery.
Last night, on an envelope, you wrote:
I am learning to listen
to what silence keeps.
This morning you spoke one word: Here.
It lay on the table like a stamp no one noticed until now —
already stuck, already sent.
A shirt slipped from the stack into my lap;
I held it, not knowing if I’d been given a gift
or a reminder.
Categories:
unmailed, emotions,
Form: Free verse
The special scarlet of a scheme orchid.
I'm teetering on the verge of a smirk.
You won't hear it when the dimout torpid
The special scarlet of a scheme orchid.
A last leaf's fall is too loud and morbid
A written, unmailed love note in black ink.
The special scarlet of a scheme orchid.
I'm teetering on the verge of a smirk.
Written: February 23, 2023
Categories:
unmailed, analogy, anxiety, tree,
Form: Triolet
Her love lies low in cold, cold ground
for far too many years.
The green grass growing on his grave
is watered with her tears.
Lovingly crafted notes unmailed
are filling up her drawer.
She half expects to hear his step
once more at her front door.
To her dimmed eyes, the old mirror
reflects the yesterdays;
deep in its depth she finds him and
leans to his arms and stays.
They find her there and wonder at
the smile upon her face;
reflections from the mirror fade
of other time and place.
Categories:
unmailed, love,
Form: Rhyme