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Letters
by George Hoernerah there is the box
the one with all the letters
that i never sent because
they were never written
the one to my mother
who left when i was six
the one to my first love
who somehow knew
i had no idea what love was
beyond the urges hanging
between my thighs
the one to my first lover
who i left alone
in Brussels near the fair
whose picture i no longer have
the one to my best friend, Conrad
who i told that if i didn’t
commit suicide by age 36
i’d probably live to be an old man
the one to all the rest
can be found buried
in my poems
along with the one
to myself
still there is one more
that needs be written
to those near and dear
who hold the future
in their hearts
01/19/2012
Posted on 01/22/2012
Copyright © 2026 George Hoerner
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Alison McKenzie on 01/22/12 at 06:33 PM I adore this, George. Very much. |
| Posted by Jeffrey Parren on 01/23/12 at 06:43 PM when you write "box" I am almost convinced it is a piece of paper, and then I imagine an actual box with the letters to a poem (or letter) scattered in it in an unorganized way almost in the same fashion thoughts are...littered on the mind of the host. either way this is powerful. as always. ~JPP |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 01/24/12 at 05:04 PM Really a fascinating way to look at letters and communicating, the passage of time, relationships. Thanks for this, George. |
| Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 01/26/12 at 02:06 PM I'm glad you hung around, George my friend, if only to pen this marvelous ode, which in my mind is one of the best you've ever penned. George, you an old man? Never! Your perpetual youth belies the fact. |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 01/31/12 at 06:05 PM I like how this and your Closeness poem reminds how so many other souls come and go in our lives, and how poetry helps us to deal with relationships and loss. Kudos! |
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