In a book of love letters
written centuries ago
I found a line you once wrote to me

and it startled me so badly
that I closed the book
replaced it upon the shelf
and avoided it for months.

It was a letter from a man
to his lady love
separately secluded in pastoral France
and I think of another letter you wrote
while I was in Luxembourg
in which you ended with the words
"Get to Paris at all costs",
and I wonder
if the two might be connected.

You loved my letters
my practiced penmanship
and humorous style
but it was to my sister
that my letters
were most creative.

Her favorite and mine,
a letter where on one page
I wrote every third line
until the page was full;
on another I began writing
on all four edges of the page
and spiraled inward.

Thirteen pages,
each different and unique
as I recalled for her
the mundane details of my days -

And then I got a computer.

And, despite my best intentions
promises made to myself and friends
I stopped writing letters,
replacing them
with infrequent cards
and impersonal printouts.

And even though
the content was much the same
they were devoid of much
of their former style
and personality.

And so it was
that we lost touch
and I was left behind
to seek you elsewhere.

I returned to that book one day
and though the words
of that long ago lover
still rang with your voice
they'd lost some of their sting.

Cori MacNaughton
(prior to) 28 Apr 2005