Letter To America
Entry by: Briergate
21st October 2016
Last lines from the front line
She never healed, from the gaping void
of love lost, and hope extinguished.
Through tiny tells we knew the signs
the swift start as the letterbox slammed
the earnest watchful vigilance, concealed
beneath a veil of slow indifference.
And yet, he stole the core of her, the soft
and fleshy vulnerability which bloomed
when he took her hand, and kissed it,
and promised to return. He did not return.
After the war, she languished, the years
while fine, while not unkind, did not yield
the time for her to heal. Her heart, once
offered up in hope and grace, shrank down,
sealed, etching lines of loss upon her face.
When finally, her memory failed and flew,
and deserted too, at least at last there was
some peace, and she returned to the lighter
time; the days of secret smiles, and sharing.
And so it was, when once the letterbox
received her message a final time, and the
creased well-travelled missive found its
final aged recipient, amid apologies for
decades of delay, her fingers wandered
blind in unfamiliarity, traced the cursive
bringing her the hope misplaced, and yet.
She could not perceive the love within
the letter to America; the last line,
from the front line, the pledge vowed
in sentences of surety, and strength.
She never healed, from the gaping void
of love lost, and hope extinguished.
Through tiny tells we knew the signs
the swift start as the letterbox slammed
the earnest watchful vigilance, concealed
beneath a veil of slow indifference.
And yet, he stole the core of her, the soft
and fleshy vulnerability which bloomed
when he took her hand, and kissed it,
and promised to return. He did not return.
After the war, she languished, the years
while fine, while not unkind, did not yield
the time for her to heal. Her heart, once
offered up in hope and grace, shrank down,
sealed, etching lines of loss upon her face.
When finally, her memory failed and flew,
and deserted too, at least at last there was
some peace, and she returned to the lighter
time; the days of secret smiles, and sharing.
And so it was, when once the letterbox
received her message a final time, and the
creased well-travelled missive found its
final aged recipient, amid apologies for
decades of delay, her fingers wandered
blind in unfamiliarity, traced the cursive
bringing her the hope misplaced, and yet.
She could not perceive the love within
the letter to America; the last line,
from the front line, the pledge vowed
in sentences of surety, and strength.
Feedback: Average score: 353 (71%)
Marker comments:
Marker 1
- What I liked about this piece: The end has a wonderful enigmatic twist. there is a softness in the mood
- Favourite sentence: Through tiny tells
...shrank down sealed etching lines upon her face - Feedback: I like the feeling of a lost America. At times I find the language a little flowery perhaps wordy but I think that is because I find this style of heartfelt writing difficult. Thankyou.
Marker 2
- What I liked about this piece: sad and beautiful, well crafted and very moving.
- Favourite sentence: Her heart, once
offered up in hope and grace, shrank down,
sealed, etching lines of loss upon her face. - Feedback: it's great, wouldn't change a thing
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