Forgive me, Iím no good at this. I canít write back. I never read your letter.
I canít say I got your note. I havenít had the strength to open the envelope.
The mail stacks up by the door. Your handís illegible. Your postcards were
defaced. Wash your wet hair? Any document you meant to send has yet to
reach me. The untied parcel service never delivered. I regret to say Iím
unable to reply to your unexpressed desires. I didnít get the book you sent.
By the way, my computer was stolen. Now Iím unable to process words. I
suffer from aphasia. Iíve just returned from Kenya and Korea. Didnít you
get a card from me yet? What can I tell you? I forgot what I was going to
say. I still canít find a pen that works and then I broke my pencil. You know
how scarce paper is these days. I admit I havenít been recycling. I never
have time to read the Times. Iím out of shopping bags to put the old news
in. I didnít get to the market. I meant to clip the coupons. I havenít read
the mail yet. I canít get out the door to work, so I called in sick. I went to
bed with writerís cramp. If I couldnít get back to writing, I thought Iíd catch
up on my reading. Then Oprah came on with a fabulous author plugging
her best selling book.
|Originally published in Santa Monica Review, fall 1997. Copyright © 1997 by Harryette Mullen. All rights reserved. Used by permission of the author.|