On the Persistence of the Letter as a Form
____________________________________

Dear murderous world, dear gawking heart,
I never wrote back to you; not one word

wrenched itself free of my fog-draped mind
to dab in ink the day’s dull catalog

of ruin. Take back the ten-speed bike
which bent like a child’s cheap toy

beneath me. Accept as your own
the guitar that was smashed over my brother,

who writes now from jail in Savannah,
who I cannot begin to answer. Here

is the beloved pet who died at my feet,
and there, outside my window,

is where my mother buried it in a coffin
meant for a newborn. Upon

my family, raw and vigilant, visit numbness.
Of numbness I know enough.

And to you I’ve now written too much,
dear cloud of thalidomide,

dear spoon trembling at the mouth,
dear marble-eyed doll never answering back.

 

 

From The Resurrection of the Body and the Ruin of the World by Paul Guest, 2003

New Issues Poetry & Prose, Western Michigan University, Dept. of English,
1903 W. Michigan Ave., Kalamazoo, MI 49008-5331
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