Poetry from Noah Berlatsky

Your Letters

I have saved your letters.

I don’t remember what is in them.

I’m not sure where they are.

But they’re around here somewhere.

The ink is probably smeared.

I probably can’t read your handwriting.

I probably won’t remember where I was when I read them.

I am not sure I remember who you are.

The words are there though.

They live on somewhere.

like the past on which I was written.

I must have been because here I am.

Next time I move I will throw them out.