Up the stairs
He would spryly come
Mail in hand
Smile on face
Stop! To him, shouted Papa
Let ME read MY mail
But he'd tell
Before you could see
What written
There for you
Electric bill or bright post-card
From missing Unk Lou
It was fun
It was very sweet
Comical
Giggle mire
Until the day he brought tears
Unsealed gaping wire
He folded
onto red brick step
head in hands
first to see
Death's announced delivery
no one wished to be
( mhmmmm not sure a shadorma can join a quartet,,,)
Pearl, I like how you open this with the lighthearted wonder of receiving mail from unexpected areas, and end with the sadness of news we don't want to hear. It is very nice to meet you. I am also a New Yorker, but now an ex-pat living in Mexico.
ReplyDeletePamela
In the second one
ReplyDelete"Before you could see
What written"
would feel more comfortable to read if it said 'words written', and the last line 'no one wished to hear'?
I think it would be worth thinking about it a little more, for the ideas are poignant.
Papa's postman sounds like those in the Scottish highlands, who know everyone's business before they know it themselves. So tragic, the end of your poem.
ReplyDeleteThank you for visiting my blog.
Thank you Pamela ex-pat.... I am a current New Yorker in a USVI former ex-pat's sensibility.... Lovely to meet .... Looking forward to continued exchange
ReplyDeleteThanks Jinksy for taking the time.. Think I tossed this one off with perhaps too much attention to the syllables....straight from head ( or wherever these things come from!) to post.. Most I think could always do with a bit more thinking.... Thsnk you again....
ReplyDeleteThanks for stopping by Viv... and leaving that glimpse of the Scottish highlands
ReplyDelete