A letter came a week ago.
It's mutely resting between
the potted ivy and car keys
marking time on the table
in the foyer.
It's unopened, of course,
but I know what it says -
I just can't make myself
read the words.
I know they're angry.
I know they're designed to ask
in yet one more way
for what I don't have to give.
I've walked by it
a thousand times,
even held it a few.
Maybe if left unread
the words will somehow change
and say what I need most to hear.
C.J. Heck
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/unopened-letter/
