Red Letter Day

On a dark night late in the year, you drove thirty minutes to a post office on the southern edge of downtown, to mail a single letter to someone you will not remember twenty years later. But anyway, it was more to get away, to send some feathers in a red envelope, some feathers from the wings of your heart which longed to fly out from this empty low place, to find a home where it was wanted and needed and valued. You no longer wanted to feel as though there was an impatient curmudgeon named Time waiting by the front door in a worn floral armchair asking, “Oh, you’re still here?”

That is why it did not matter to you that the drive was an hour round trip, to mail a single a letter, to whom you will never remember. It was important. It must have been a boy who you hoped would save you. No one noticed if you were gone for long periods and for long periods, years in fact, you wanted to be gone. Continue reading “Red Letter Day”

The Drive

We stopped along the side of
The winding, narrow two-lane road
That curved out of sight behind the next hill
You cut fresh sagebrush off the side of this arid mountain

It filled the car with the scent of wild outdoors
Which followed us home, a thousand miles to the city
The road ended atop the pink mountains
These Goliath witnesses of eons

Watched the land run red with blood
The essence of the violence
That occurred in the valley below
Had oozed and seeped into the soil

It radiated through the air and into the people
The place I had hoped would become our home
Echoed too hollow and strange
And empty

-Copyright C.M. Mounts, October 2003