Bring in the mail every afternoon
Her name still arrives in careful print
Catalogs for spring she'll never see
An invitation to something
she won't attend There's a letter I wrote
three weeks ago
Still sitting on
the kitchen table Sealed and addressed in my own hand
Telling her things I never said in time
The world doesn't know yet The world keeps on sending
Her name on the envelopes Like she's still here
I stack them beside the unsent one
All these words meant for
Mine joining theirs in a pile of paper
Messages for some can't receive them
I wonder if I send it now Would it find her somehow?
Just return to me,
marked unknown Another piece of mail,
nowhere to go
The world doesn't know yet The world keeps on sending
Her name on the envelopes Like she's still here
I keep my letter with the junk mail All of it on the lift
All of it still holds
Would she like to come back to read it?