Thursday, August 27, 2015


That both of you died does not mean
I have no duty to send you news.
Time, I hear, is different for the dead;
Perhaps I speak to to you at 20
In college and in love so that I seem
An unlikely correspondent, a man of 63
Claiming to be your second son
Sending word that he is a grandfather
And you great grandparents
Of a skeptical child named Ginger.
By this token know me: I inherited the note
You sent, Mom, the day after your birthday.
Had you not changed your mind,
I had never been conjured into being
How unlikely a thing it is to exist!
Next to that, conversing with my dead
Is all in a night's work.

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