The old lady sits and writes a letter to her love.
She seals it with a kiss and wish to be thought of
Pastes the postage on the package in hopes that
This is the time she will be written back.
She picks her cane off the ground,
Grabs the paper, turns around.
Hobbles to the door before
Noticing the rain.
Getting an umbrella from the umbrella stand,
She opens it sheltering the letter in her hand.
Walking to the mail box,
She slips her words inside,
Hoping she expressed well what she had tried.
Every trip
holds such anticipation,
Poetry, stories, a simple quip
Still show sweet revelation
Of a vulnerable relationship
That is built on such patience.
A man is startled from his chair
When he hears a rap
Upon his door and wonders if his son is back
He stretches slowly, and walks across the floor
But it was only the mailman at his front door.
He smiles when he gets a letter
Then he says goodbye
He tosses it to the floor as he goes inside
It piles on the others
And he can't help wonder why
She writes her love so often if she knows
But then the letter flutters from an unkown force
And he thinks,
Who am I too say our realm isn't roamed by ghosts?
©lenarosew
L