i received a letter today.

it was from a former lover,
written in inksplattered, ugly
cursive
that danced downward
on the page.

it was nonsense really;
talk about family,
a work anecdote,
a quote from the prophet.

my stomach sank as the letter
progressed,
realizing just how boring
it can be to receive the love
of someone
you don't give a shit about anymore,
at all.

soon enough the reason behind the
letter unfolded,
his mother had died
of a stroke,
age 83.

this woman was old
but not old like that crack your back
let me sit down because i just went to the kitchen
can't drive or go to the
grocery store anymore old,
she was old like
aged, bitter whiskey
and dust.

but she liked me.

she used to kick the mailbox;
she called it alfred
and swore,
spiked the lemonade
at brunch
while the papers
piled up on her lawn.

her laugh came from someplace
unworldly,
a blazing cacophony,
irreverent and infectious,
and now no more.

i finished the letter,
put it back in the envelope,
set it on the table and stared at it.

the empty room felt
emptier now.

i wiped my eye,
smoked the rest of the pack and
threw the letter
away.

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