Postman, L.Monteferrante

Postman, by Luigi Monteferrante

In the days of letter writing
On onion skin paper
The author sharpened wood with a steely blade

I beg your pardon:
A coffee please
If it’s not too late

And so she begins
You came to mind
And here he is

The Postman
Between her or him
Pen and paper

A loved one
A friend
Rarely strangers

As happens
Nowadays
In the days of letter writing

The pale blue envelope
Its racing colors
Sealed with a slip of the tongue

Or an orange sponge run
Under the faucet
The letter is stamped and posted

Or simply mailed
Once received
Opened to words

Heaped like sadness
Or delight
Better still

A Postman’s fun
To open the envelop and snoop
Read its contents

Alter the course of events
Interrupt a letter’s flight
Or progress

And in perfect hand duplicate
And here the fun
Altering words and meaning

Intention and feeling
Declarations made
Confession withheld

Hints dropped
So love turns to hate
Hate beauty grief indifference

Anger joy elation depression
This Postman’s job
The same as Fate’s