My life’s revealed through letters I’ve
Received across the years,
Identities for who I am
Among my souvenirs.
The faded ink that shows my name
On papers creased and folded
Portrays the ones who played a part
In how my life was molded.
“Dear Daughter” brings to mind the love
My parents had for me,
Their prayers and aspirations for
The woman I would be.
My Dad would write in poetry—
A family tradition,
While Mom would mainly concentrate
On gentle admonition.
“Dear Sister” from my sister speaks
Of childhood and the past,
Of deep concerns and lessons learned,
And years that went too fast,
Of love and blood that bound us with
Our brothers ever tighter,
Of burdens shared among us all
That caused them to be lighter.
“Dear Sweetheart,” ah, the memories
That special name evokes—
My husband’s hopes and promises,
His funny little jokes.
When I read now the words he wrote
At times we were apart,
I clearly see from what he said
My place within his heart.
“Dear Mom” appears in childish scrawls;
To read them is such fun.
“You’ll always be my mother, and
I’ll always be your son,”
“Dear Mom, you know I love you and
The ‘hurrycane’ does, too.”
These treasured scripts still make me laugh
And warm me through and through.
Their later letters demonstrate
The changes in their stations,
Their college days—their wedding plans,
Their grown-up situations.
“Dear Grandmother” has brought me joy
I could not have imagined;
Their letters march across the years,
A fascinating pageant
Along with those from family,
Are letters to “Dear Friend.”
Reminders of our special ties
I find in words they penned.
“Dear Teacher, you have taught me more
Than I had cared to learn,’
Defines another entity
Of one I’d cause to earn.
My correspondence, long preserved,
Helps me to recollect
The scope of my identity
As I read and reflect.
And yet, “Dear Daughter of the King,”
My highest appellation,
Was written to me with that name
Before the earth’s creation.
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