The Letter

Her voice slid into my ear;
she wished that I would write her
to give her news from home.
I sat, armed with pad and pen.
The stark sheet glared,
a beacon waiting to be lit.

The events of the year bobbed through my head,
fat balloons with neat strings
waiting to be released.
Yet I, always brimming with words,
could not bear to set down
even the most insignificant happenings.

She had no right to them.
She should have been here,
writing to friends afar,
sending love from home.
She should not wander away
and then wonder what's become of me.

Folding the naked sheet,
I slid it into the envelope
and sent it first class to the new world.
A world without me.