I miss handwritten letters
from days before correspondence
degraded to LOL’s And MHO’s;
when families gathered to revel
in the love that settled on each page.
The dimpled envelope,
carefully slit with a paring knife,
passed under every nose.
Each one savoured the lavender scent
and touched the waxen seal
as though it were gold.
We leaned into mother’s shoulders
as she read each word aloud,
as though something unexpected
might flutter off the page.
The penmanship intrigued us,
flowing cursive uprights,
t's that streaked across the page,
like the train that took us to New York
when grandma got sick
and her letters stopped.
Sep 28, 2010
Sep 28, 2010 at 3:50 PM UTC
I miss handwritten letters
from days before correspondence
degraded to LOL’s And MHO’s;
when families gathered to revel
in the love that settled on each page.
The dimpled envelope,
carefully slit with a paring knife,
passed under every nose.
Each one savoured the lavender scent
and touched the waxen seal
as though it were gold.
We leaned into mother’s shoulders
as she read each word aloud,
as though something unexpected
might flutter off the page.
The penmanship intrigued us,
flowing cursive uprights,
t's that streaked across the page,
like the train that took us to New York
when grandma got sick
and her letters stopped.
Revised