She wrote letters in crayon and Bic pen and lead
She wrote letters in notebooks, in margins
She wrote letters on monogrammed onionskin sheets
She wrote letters to pen pals and lovers
She wrote letters on wandering cobblestones then
She wrote letters on trains and in tunnels
She wrote letters in cafes on evenings while drunk
She wrote letters in phone booths in tears
She wrote letters for love and for jobs and for apology
She wrote letters of longing, and seeing and sadness
She wrote letters by firelight and watched them all burn
She wrote letters and sometimes her letters returned
She wrote letters that curled in a backpack in rain
She wrote letters in anger then tore them pain
She wrote letters to children who moved far away
She wrote letters to tell herself she’d be OK
She wrote letters as sister, as citizen, friend
She wrote letters for holiday updates and then
She wrote letters on screens, on her phone, in her dreams
She wrote letters to no one when feeling alone
She wrote letters, was answered with letters until
She wrote letters and letters were obsolete, still
She wrote letters that travelled half way round the world
She wrote letters in faith letters matter somehow
All the letters in bundles way back in her drawers
Are a lifetime of saying I love you and more
“She wrote letters” could be on her gravestone inscribed
She wrote letters, they fed, they connected, they kept her alive.
Early Morning Poems 