This tale is true and mine. It tells of
anticipation opening the mailbox each time
I arrive back at the house by night; only once
a week, about, I find my name,
handwritten by someone else,
on an envelope, not typed,
their name in the top corner
across from the stamp of choice.
This tale tells not of mail from
universities lining the country, but of
hand printed postcards and letters
in ink of blue or purple, sometimes in pencil.
This lost art of exchanging notes,
communicating through time
is recorded on actual paper, and not
deleted when too much data is
absorbed by your phone or laptop;
this lost love of mine has disappeared
with the advancement of modern society,
with its iPods, speaker systems
and instant messaging. This shared scheme
of secrets has vanished with the time of today.
Today has presented us with endless
possibilities, “fast” being a key among all.
No one wants to wait anymore, for anything
Conversation skippers, status followers,
True ties replaced by Google and its constant updaters
Checking phones during meals, not talking
to the person beside them, toying on their tablets
trend keepers, reading from kindles, when they could be
reading the faces of the ones who face them.
I beg of you now, generation of today
preserve this tradition, heed this advice I offer up:
it only takes a pen, a note card and patience regarding
communication, development of anticipation.
The speed of email is neither slow nor fast,
yet the speed of a letter, in my chicken scratch
versus your old English cursive, is just enough
to make a relationship last.