You Can’t Have It All by Barbara Ras
"You can’t bring back the dead, / but you can have the words forgive and forget hold hands / as if they meant to spend a lifetime together."
Grief by Richard Brostoff
1. Dear K., I received word from A. about J. I am so sorry, my darling. I am here. Love, T. 2. Dear K., I am hugging you and holding your hand. I know it's not much comfort but I am here for you, and you are
The Way to Keep Going in Antarctica by Bernadette Mayer
M., As it turns out I've had quite an unproductive afternoon—the rain interfered with the electricity here, so I turned off my computer and had a nap. Just finished dinner and am now back at my desk listening to Dean Martin. No
Orkney / This Life by Andrew Greig
Dear M.— About two years ago, you carry the weight of these questions around with you: Where is to be my next home? What type of person will I become within its walls? There have been too many days and too many
Other Lives And Dimensions And Finally A Love Poem by Bob Hicok
My dearest Y. and B.— I've written and rewritten this letter many times. Didn't want to sound trite, didn't want to come off like a cliched greeting card either. How does one find the right words for joy, for knowing that you're
The Arrowhead by Mary Oliver
1. What happened is, I sat on my desk yesterday and found that bits and pieces of my life were stolen. I know no other way to say it except that. It feels a lot like someone is stealing my life,
Reality Demands by Wisława Szymborska
1. Almost all my letters the other day began this way: I am not sure of the geography of things— Some friends I haven't written in awhile. Their previous letters I haven't yet answered. I said: this is a letter I must
Kyrie by Tomas Tranströmer
1. Yesterday was— Perhaps it's better not talk to about it. 2. My manuscript is home now, all the way from Edinburgh. I look at your notes, M., and— You should see me here. Clutching the papers to my chest. 3. I've said it before, and I'll
Postcard From Home by Al Zolynas
Dear MJ, A year ago, you followed your heart (has it really been that long?). You were a thousand miles from home. I imagined you were scared. But I also thought, this is what they meant by being brave. (Yes, you
Brown Penny by William Butler Yeats
For A., because we both loved Yeats. Because he did his laundry on Saturday nights. Because he's good with children even if he's afraid to have his own. Because he talked to his mother regularly. Because he wanted to be one