Perhaps, dearest daughter, your continued absence From these shores is very much a blessing For even though your corporeal self Resides an all but incomprehensible Number of leagues away, The occasional missive you deign to send Serve as sufficient understudies for your particular role; Indeed, one can almost feel the spittle Rising as blunt instruments from the very pages themselves,
But then again, perhaps it is not so; Not the odd angry recrimination Sundry maddening, shrieking tales of woe Blows which may not reach their destination Though intended to mar the tend'rest spot For even if perchance they reach their mark These scattershot parries are all for naught, For no matter what pains the barbed tongue bring, The most **** pointed speech will fade in time; Though slaps or scratches may utterly sting, Such violence is not the ultimate crime. 'Tis the lack of your voice, or your foot-fall Which is the unkindest cut of them all.
The Marquesa de Montemayor returns courtesy of the Thornton Wilder novel The Bridge of San Luis Rey.