Author’s Note: This poem emerged from a thwarted Marie Kondo effort to “plunge and discard.” As I worked through my deceased husband’s effects, I realized how little we really knew each other despite many years of marriage. Even Marie suggests we keep those things that speak to our hearts, and, in the end, I kept everything. The poem speaks to how difficult it is to know another person truly and how important it is to try.
Legacy
You should catalog them; it’s a ’70s archive
– an historian friend
You’re twenty years dead, but I want to know
why you saved these letters, boxes and bags of
them, from women, girls, mothers,
nurses, waitresses, from your first wife.
You’d say
it was before we met
I found the lot last week, notes for your next book,
high school papers, your father’s paint by numbers,
a clown, a dwarf, an old set of drumsticks, a bike helmet
with a crack, and these boxes, dusty, crammed with letters,
Did I know you
we never talked about them
Spidery script on thin sheets, once
safe in their sleeves, those sleeves slit open
with that silver knife, I still have it,
you sliced precisely but left rough edges
I remember
your eagerness
Dotty, Judy, Louise, Mary Lou, Jan, Carolina,
“I haven’t heard from you,” “I miss you,”
“I will be in Manhattan, in Providence, on Long
Island, at home, to see you, when can we meet.”
I knew
their eagerness
“Passionate kisses,” writes Ellen, then marries
another man. “We have gotten quite serious,”
says Pam, “but we have not talked about
what comes next. When will you be back?”
I could tell her
you will not be back
Stamps were cheap, phones could break the bank,
In those days they saved, scrimped, “I cannot
visit you in Chicago, too expensive. What did
you want from me there?” wary Dolores.
What she meant
hold your heart close
“I am confused…I want to be independent…
I am not sure about you…I will always love
you…I just don’t know…” that’s Elizabeth.
I imagine her at Woodstock.
How she felt
muddy puddles, no toilets
I still see your face, in dreams I hear your voice,
I am confused, I will always love you,
what did you want from me?
Kathryn Temple writes poetry and fiction from her home on the western shore of the Chesapeake Bay. Dr. Temple is director of honors and professor of law and humanities in the English department at Georgetown University. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Streetlight, 3Elements, Moss Puppy, and Persimmon Tree, among other publications. When she’s not writing, she tries to keep the ducks off the dock. Website: medium.com/@templek.
Delmarva Review is a national literary journal published locally, in St. Michaels, Maryland, to offer all writers a desirable home in print (with a digital edition) presenting their most compelling new poetry and prose to discerning audiences everywhere. This is a time when many commercial publications in print (including literary magazines) have closed their doors or are reducing literary content. The editors read thousands of submissions annually to select the best of new poetry, fiction, and nonfiction. The review is available from online booksellers and regional specialty bookstores. As a 501(c)(3) nonprofit, support comes from tax-deductible contributions and a grant from Talbot Arts with funds from the Maryland State Arts Council. Website: www.DelmarvaReview.org
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