THE BASKET

 

I have an old broken straw basket

Filled almost to the top

With things

Always

It is close at hand

I like to go through it in quiet moments

Letting the contents

One by one

Rest in my hands

Thoughts, contemplations and people

Turned over in my hands

Turned over in my mind

Then not acted upon

Love letters from San Francisco

Before boarding a freighter for the Orient

My first poetry written in the glorious forests of Northern California

Laying on my old stained LL Bean blanket

I carried everywhere for years

Like every enfant…I needed my blanket

Pen and pencil

Books

Poetry and love letters

Thinking of those times I realize

One great loss the world has suffered

A great loss

A great demise

Is the demise of the love letter

Nothing against texts

Emails

And ghetto speak…”BTW love ya bitch”

They simply will never be able to replace the poetic love letter

“I am reeling, intoxicated

Overcome

When remembering

The smell of your hair

Falling endlessly into a deep abyss

When reliving in forlorn anguish

Us”

See what I mean?

How can an email or a text…or ghetto speak

Replace this…?

And, speaking from experience

I can say with certainty

The poetic love letter is a very effective means to an end

But…back to the basket

Back to the neglected abandoned odds and ends therein

Because these thoughts, contemplations and people surfaced

Because they… while careening through all eternity

Collided with either you or me

Depending on what the case may be

Most certainly

This collision

This contact

Was by design

That is why in quiet moments I pull each individual item out of the basket

Let it be warmed by the heat of my hands

Speak with it

Love it

Knowing

Although, it is not time… yet

We most certainly

Have unfinished business