A Letter in the Mail

A POEM FOR KAREN FROM THE BUTTERSCOTCH CHAIR

            Sailboat in the moonlight

                        Billie Holiday

That's how these lines arrive, Karen,

by slow mail with the dragon stamp.

Did you expect the rabbit

coming from the hat? That one's

for the philatelist grandchild

hopefully, some day, one willing

to fight for it. When you return

from your quilting workshop

I want to see what you've done.

You and Colleen. It's just before noon

in the butterscotch chair, Friday,

and I've gotten rid of leftovers

in the fridge--you've noticed by now,

but make certain you've seen

it's also stocked--green grapes,

strawberry smoothies, sliced ham

for crackers at lunch, and cooked

turkey breast for dinner. Four tiny

(and lean) round steaks you can fry

later in the week. And Tillamook

Old Fashioned Ice Cream.

We had little carrots,

I've counted them, be certain

to eat four every day.

I'm missing you already.

I ladled a cup of chile

before dumping the rest

and took out the garbage. I'm packing,

but I had to work on the poem

for the gift belt made for me

by the maestro from El Salvador.

I've lately discovered it's after

the fashion of John the Baptist's,

and is a girdle for justice.

Es muy peligro, también.

I should have known!

Karen, I love you longer

than our half-century road.

I'm taking some Yakima apples

on the plane for the Minnesotans

to help warm them to Kirsten's book.

Like the belt, it's beautiful, too,

beautiful, and dangerous.

She'll be great inside the pages

and in white water. I'll message you

from Rochester, remembering

James Wright's blessing.

These lines, too urgent, too full

of love for anything but the U.S.P.S.

In ten days, we'll catch up,

get our ballots filled out together

and seriously steady ourselves

for the anniversary celebrating

50 years of marriage. This,
a song offering of a trembling man.

            Further,

Jim

19 October 2018