Archive
02/27/12 - (2)
Perfect Poem
In preparation for delivery of the five-piece bedroom suite Of modern Italian-made white-lacquer furniture We ordered, just this past week,
You've been scrutinizing forty years of mementos That have accumulated in your desk and nightstand drawers, Disposing of most, for their irrelevance to your present life.
But when I arrive, Friday twilight, to begin our weekend, You're excited to read, to me, the three letters you've found, "Keepers," treasures you can't remember ever seeing,
Letters, dashed off on steno-pad pages, From your dad, Murray, to his wife-to-be, Shirley, During the summer of '39 or '40, before they were married,
Love letters addressed to his "Dearest Sweetheart," Unabashedly affectionate expressions of passionate surrender To the young Brooklyn gal who'd captured his heart,
That knockout doll who resided not a ten-minute ride away, And walked past his ladies'-clothing store almost every day — The one with the blond hair, great gams, who'd captivated his soul,
To whom, with youthful bravado, he introduced himself, She of shy demeanor, who, one unassuming afternoon, Excitedly accepted his bold proposal of marriage.
And all I can do is sit and listen, transfixed, transported, As you read, to me, your father's simple, unrefined words, His ineloquent attempt at poetic measures:
Dearest Sweetheart: Received your letter and was very glad to hear from you. I was also glad to hear on Monday that you left for the country, although I was a little mad at you for not calling me up, but then I realized you were in a hurry and had to catch a bus so I forgive you. How are you and how do you like the place where you are stopping (Do you miss me) is it a nice place (Do you love me) How are you enjoying your- self (I miss you terribly). Are you getting enough sun so that you can come home looking like a shine. (I love you). Don't forget to think of me at 12 o'clock just as we said we would. (I love you). Write to me as soon as you receive this. Have a swell time and don't do nothing I wouldn't do or I will haunt you. I love you. Yours as ever Murray
When you finish, we read into each other's radiance And hear, through time's ever-present past, Not only those two lovers, in the romance of their courtship, But us, in the ardor of our hearts' right now, We four captured in the staccato tones, rhythms, cadences Forming Murray's poem of perfect eloquence.
02/27/12 - (2)
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