The Word for Writers

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Letter to a friend

Dearest,

When you wake up this day,
Rising long before the first light of the awakening day
casts an orange shade
of the early morning sun,
contemplate the joy of life discarded;
Love -

Life lived in the shadow of decaying love;
Matured marriages greying,
Love that dwindles into a shadow of its former vibrancy,
Although ever present, yet barely acknowledged-

Romantic love over time,
Has become an irritating assumption
of shared concern best underplayed-

Life, it would seem,
Is far too demanding,
to make room for
Acting out mutual affection-

Love for the most part,
Is a passing fancy,
Soon faded and lost
amidst the harried existence of daily existence-

So, this day when your husband wakes up,
Before he goes out the door,
Call to him, "Dearest!"
He probably wouldn't respond to your first call
Given, you have forgotten the last time you used the "D" word-

Tell him:
"Man, who I love, You look as handsome this day,
as the day I first set eyes upon you,
hopelessly falling in love with you"-

Pray that the poorman, long denied of your effusive affection,
Having convinced himself he is not hearing things
On his way out, does not back into the garage door
As your sudden expression of tender love's long forgotten charme,
Totally throws of balance his studied concentration-

Ah men!
I can imagine him, pausing mid-stride,
between a smile and muddied confusion
of a mind refusing to accept the evidence of the senses-

Turning on his wobbly heels,
he will probably walk smack into the doorpost
before backing his truck into the garage door,
(Don't spring such surprises often, after all love is long dead; a concept overrated)-

'Rugged man' is more often than not a baby at heart,
Probably, outside the odd heart wrenching movie,
for the first time since Grandma passed,
'steely eyes' will moisten with overpowering emotions,
Do not underestimate the power of loving words on a Wednesday morning-

Your tender evocations of suppressed emotions;
love's forgotten call
may have long reaching effects,
as 'Mr. Steely face' usually with thunder on his face
breezes into office with a sublime smile on his rugged face-

Stern stone face
walking with sunshine on his face
might easily be misconstrued as a miracle event
by the mildly religious of his workmates-

Don't stop the miracle in progress,
Reach out to your teenage daughter,
That budding flower of hormone drenched teenage angst all knowing,
Delicately balanced on the cool,
Filled to brimming with undefined emotions-

Tell her in the morning rush
between a piece of toast and spilling milk
papers flying, rucksack swinging, barely missing your face,
in the mad dash to avoid maternal affection misconstrued as 'control"
As she dashes out of your life for a time,
"Beautiful, you are the pride of my existence"-

She probably will ignore you,
Petulantly throwing together with that look only teenage girls can manage to pull off with dignified ease,
"What?!"
Yesterday's harsh rebuke may still be hurting her delicate pride,
So, never mind her query:
"Mother, are you alright!?"
As she loses herself into the world on spindly legs dashing-

To your little girl,
That precocious package of never ending exuberance,
So unabashedly intelligent,
the perfect delight of brown chocolate;
"baby last",
Your bubbling delight of unending joy,
The light of your soul,
Central to your very existence, reach out-

Now, that she is all grwon,
its been a while seen you wrapped your mother bear paws
around her delicate fingers, walking hand in hand,
who, would blame you,
the harried hurry of life in fast paced modern society,
Its daly impositions has all but worn away tender emotions,
Turnng every mother-child interaction into mechanical constructs-

Tell her what you feel in your aching heart,
"Princess, Mommy, loves you like no other."-

Poor tender goose, caught off balance
by this unusual display of "abnormal" maternal affection,
May probably react the way only innocence can,
Clasp you back in those trusting child's hug
saying:
"I love you too, Mommy",
Moments before her razor sharp inquiring mind
darts forth a question that ought not be asked;
"Mommy, are you alright.?"-

When you are done with disrupting
what ought to be a normal morning
of what is likely to be uneventful day,
with love's excessive effusions.
Ask yourself,
mainly because you can't help yourself:
"What's the problem with me?"-

Now, that you have gone and rolled back time,
to a time before the joy of life
was expiated by the demands of
daily existence,
and the assumptions of "my concern and love is obvious enough"
has given way for once to the heart's call-

As your dimple cheeks crease into a smile,
Rejuvenating your entirety as a woman,
Awakening your youthfulness in a way
none of your expensive potpourri of creams and lotions could ever enable,
In the awareness of your personal triumph,
Maybe, just maybe, an angel may smile with you.

"I love you too, beautiful"

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