Letter from Carter
Coming home after spending my day doing what I have now come to hate,
A day that many others might envy, as it supposedly means I'm a success.
But I do not want this day, it is failure to me.
A day that I resent time passing, like it has been stolen from me,
time ripped from me out of an open wound as a gun is forced in my mouth.
As I am still wasting my time fuming about the day,
my hand reaches in the mailbox and pulls out an unexpected hope.
I don't notice it at first.
It is mixed in the ads and junk mail.
But then I notice the hand writing,
He said he was going to mail me, but I had forgotten.
As I put the key in my door, excitement fills me from the inside out.
This package sends me to my past and lures me to the future.
Inside what treats await me?
How many others have got to read the pages that are in here?
It has been along time since I got a letter like this.
I instantly think of all the letters I have received in college.
The ones I still like to read to others at out of control gatherings.
I tear into the pages in silence,
then again, and again with Tim Berne screaming at me on the hi-fi.
In these moments,
I remember I'm alive.
San Mateo, CA 9/5/2000
Copyrighted by Michael Cooke, 2000.