c. 2025 Rod Ice
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(1-25)
A letter from home
Written so long ago
A typewritten tome with mistakes corrected
And thoughts of relevant amusement, interjected
Names not spoken in years
A whisper of days that have disappeared
A letter from home
Written on a portable machine
With characters in ink depicting a memorable age
When the bloodline was surging across a stationery page
I trace each line with my fingertips
And watch the clock hands flip
A letter from home
First composed in the pale light
Filtered through curtains sewed by hand, and hung neatly
In a tribute to progenitors, who studied discretely
In a room off by itself
With a potbellied stove, and a bookshelf
A letter from home
Read out in a wistful voice
Echoes of the seasons that transpired while I grew
Olden days rendered as a latchkey turn to renew
I pause and wonder
My routine, suddenly put asunder
A letter from home
Pickled in a canning jar
An imaginary vessel of love and hope, directed
How strange to think that much later, I am still affected
A tear in the corner of my eye
A deep breath of azure sky
A letter from home
A walk down the orchard path
When my hands and feet had not yet found their breadth
When I cautiously considered every fledgling footstep
That seedling remains
Gifted forward to yonder days
A letter from home
Scrolled over a carriage roll
Tapped with purpose until a tidy tale is composed
Then shot through a vortex of time travel throes
Written when farm chores were done
Returning in a cycle of the sun
A letter from home
Faded a bit, yet still intact
A verbal rendition of a maternal embrace
A streak across the continuum, a kiss and old lace
Folded in an envelope sheath
Sealed up with a wax wreath
A letter from home
A treasure to behold
No less meaningful for having languished so long
Ripened and ready, emotionally strong
A voice from beyond the veil
Tipping the scales
A letter from home
Revisited when I am brave
Heart and mind open meekly, to receive the yield
Of those who went before me, to boldly clear the fields
Their handiwork is the flow
Of everything I’ve come to know
(Inspired by a letter that one of my cousins shared recently, from many years ago. Sent originally from Grandma Ice, at our family farm in Columbus.)
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