published in Salt River Review and A Slant of Light (2013: Codhill Press)

I write long letters to the dead  (you only know how heartfully),

in the woods, scratching the bark with my lonely fantasies, you

were always near, the one to decipher my messages. True, I would guide

you, you couldn't have found your way alone. I wouldn't have

wanted you to. I loved holding the secret.


It's been thirteen years to the day since your last letter came,

a forest fell out of the envelope, fire blew off the bush, you see

I do remember and handwriting like someone opening his veins.

The charms you enclosed ("spitted flames") looked like the rubies

my mother piled on for shopping tennis anywhere anytime

she didn't give a hoot for propriety.

They kiss-kiss when I put them on.


But that's not what I wanted to say. I'm writing you because

she died yesterday I think you should know that

she kept on asking me When for godsake you

going to marry that boy

so handsome and  lucky.

I didn't have it in me

to remind her you were dead.


So darling, should you meet her, I'm afraid

you have a little explaining to do.

I meant no harm by my deception, tell her that please,

and let me know

what she says because I hate to think this

is something you can’t read.