letter pyre

I can almost picture the handwriting.

she remembered the letters
from pen pals
in Canada, Finland, and Spain --
and the ones from college friends
during summer vacations
when a distance of even four hours
seemed an eternity away.

some writers penned what she expected
and others wrote of their loss and pain.
a couple kept her in stitches with their wit.
most conveyed affection and some,
I miss you,
plumbing the depths of her feeling.

one day, she took them out,
tied in yarn, some yellowed
and tattered, and she pictured
time drifting pages in the wind,
making the letters meaningless
and ephemeral.

wanting to live only in the present
she impulsively put a match to the pile
and before she could stop it,
paper burned to ash to be shoveled and lost.
now all she can do
is conjure fragments and remember,
I miss them.


Copyright © 2012 Nan P.

[Note: This was written a bit late for The Sunday Whirl. The twelve words were: drift, plum, expected, stitches, letters, loss, sweaters, yarn, friends, stop, wind, and shovel. I took a liberty with "plum" and couldn't naturally work in "sweaters."]