Letter to Self, Somewhere Other than Here

Dear doppelganger, where in the world
have you been traveling? When I am
cleaning house, sometimes I come
upon bits and pieces of your wardrobe:
crystal teardrop earrings, those pumps
of sumptuous leather, that airy, off-
the-shoulder frock. And in the back
of the closet, what are those old
letters tied with ribbon, from Diego
and Hans, and Frank? Here, today,
there’s heavy frost, bare dirt in
the garden— though I hope one of us
might have remembered sometime ago
to put bulbs in the soil. Motes of snow
revolve like lazy angels, backlit by
the sun. I make wishes, missing your
carefree laughter, your joie de vivre,
the way you entered any department
store and charmed the discounts off
the hapless young clerks who wouldn’t
know what just hit them. Come back
soon— I have a Mozart cake with three
layers of Bavarian cream, and I promise
not to work on weekends (unless there’s
a real emergency). I dream of water-
colors, the stippled backs of fish in bright
green water, myself a little raft sailing away.

 

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

Series Navigation← MiniaturesGhazal with a Few Variations →

3 Comments


  1. According to the tally in the Contributors widget, Luisa, this is your 100th post at Via Negativa! (Which makes it your 104th 108th Morning Porch poem, I think.)

    Reply

  2. And this one is just charming. You’d never know that the same poet in the same voice might turn the world inside out or stitch you all over with leaves :-)

    Reply

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