The Letter (iii)
Even the leather writing
case’s hinges are shot:
the strips
of hide
that bound
the lid decayed;
the lock –
a small lock
involving only a sideways
click to open it -
still works its
mechanical metal slot.
Inside the case your letter’s
yellow pages of script
slowly
rewrite
their gist,
an ideal
content –
the content
between me and you the long dead
master of sub-text –
hints at its
continuous narrative.
poem by Jacqui Thewless
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
