something compels you to reread those letters.
the snow dripping down the glass panes as the
temperature teeters between thirty and thirty-two,
your cold feet over the vent snugged between
the couch cushions your dad never wanted until
he loved them, the confusing phone call that cast doubts
on your doubts and left your heart hollower but still
churning out its boring rhythm as if nothing were amiss
something compels you to reread those letters.
cleverer than you remember them and funny
in a way that nothing has been for months
the smile spreads before you can control it and
your cheeks are flushed and that genuine joy
embarrasses you, troubles you. you were always guilty
of falling for the written word.
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