Wednesday, January 2, 2013


In a plastic grocery sack
on the desk I’m trying to clear, 
two red hanging files my mother 
handed me on New Year’s Day.
They turn out to be filled with
all my letters to her from 17 to 51.
Scraps from notebooks, cutesy stationary,
a post card of Yosemite Falls.
I spend half an hour reading 
samples of my younger self, then give up,
sighing and wishing I liked her better.


  1. Her way of saying she loves you.

  2. These samples- what is it with the New Year? They seem to be falling out of every crevasse of life right now. I am glad the collection gave you a nice small stone though. Happy New Year- xo teri