Writing letters

The Letter
by Amy Lowell

Like cramped words scrawling all over
the paper
Like draggled fly's legs.
What can you tell of the flaring moon
Through the oak leaves?
Or of my uncertain window and the
bare floor

Spattered with moonlight?
Your silly quirks and twists have nothing
in them
Of blossoming hawthorns,
And this paper is dull, crisp, smooth,
virgin of loveliness
Beneath my hand.

I am tired, Beloved, of chafing my heart
against
The want of you;
Of squeezing it into little inkdrops,
And posting it.
And I scald alone, here, under the fire
Of the great moon.

* * * * *

Another one of my favorite poems. I found it when I was looking for poems written by women not named Emily Dickenson or Elizabeth Barrett Browning for my creative writing class in high school. I do have an anthology of poems but I don't regularly read poetry.

I like writing letters. I write regularly to three friends, even I live within driving distance of all of them and have their cell phone numbers and email addresses. I handwrite all my letters because I like to imbue my words with, well, my handwriting. I try my best to keep my writing legible but I make no attempts to hide it when I'm really excited about what I write. Letter-writing is my way of documenting my rambly, tangential monologues for the enjoyment of one particular person.

Yes, so basically my approach is very similar to what I do in these daily blogposts. Yet another illuminating post ...