sorrow

Your Letter

I wait now…
Every day, every evening for your letter.
Reminiscing…
Your voice, your smile, your hand, your eyes.
Waiting for the officer to say;
“Payne, you have mail to read.”
to ruminate, to laugh, to think…
to contemplate my next reply
but the guard passes my cell.
Now, I’m aching, lonely, waiting, hoping
to hear anything; a joke, a song
an old story about the past.
I wait…
Then, the guard comes back and says,
“Payne, they have you in the wrong cell.”
A letter…
your scent, your smell,
your words at last.
I smile, elated; my day has begun…

– Thomas D. Payne

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