Think of all the greeting cards sent
with the merest amendments--
two names, or only one,
the sender and the receiver.
The margins corral the printed
text, italicized, centered.
A column of lines like an upended
barcode for specialized birthdays,
for sons and daughters,
for their children; two sentences
for condelences, their fonts
intertwined, tendrilly.
The greeting card has gained the trust
of anyone who cannot write
what they feel, or anyone
who does not know what to feel,
what to say, how to verbalize
the way we are catapulted
into the future. Tell me how
to congratulate and offer sympathy.
I will sign my name.
I like the twist at the end, the use of the first-person POV, which makes me backtrack to the previous couple of stanzas. Makes the sentiment in the fifth and sixth stanzas, well, sort of confessional ("anyone" really pointing to "I"), methinks. :)
ReplyDeleteAh, greeting cards... I confess, some make me weep, they are so perfect... and my mother LOVES them. I like searching for just the right one. (Yes I have written her many a poem too... but she likes what the greeting cards say (this is just a hunch, but probably because they are more accessible??).
ReplyDeleteWow. The greeting card sentiment reminds me of a condensation nucleus for rain -- something around which my vague feelings and thoughts can gather and coalesce; then I can recognize "Yes, I feel so sad that you . . . or so happy for you that . . ." and my feelings have substance, like rain.
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