journey to the mailbox

Wincing
from the cold wind
& sideways rain
that flew like bullets
into my eyeballs,
I felt the crick
in my neck
tighten and wrench.
I gritted my teeth
and cursed
the flow of traffic
that stood between
the mailbox and me
and thus subjecting me
to more unceasing water-bullets.

Finally, a short break in cars,
and I sprinted across the road,
pissing off an oncoming driver
who then had to brake
ever-so-slightly
so as not to cut it too close.
I silently dared him
to confront me
and the beast of rage
within me
that begged for an outlet.

He did not accept
my dare.

I reached deep
into the rusty, moldy box
to pull out the usual
layers of bills,
statements,
and endless coupons
addressed to “our valued customers”
for crap pizza
and Meow Mix.

Inevitably,
the smallest envelope in the bunch
slipped out
of the awkward pile of paper
and was gusted
by the wind
into the gutter.

My initial displeasure
at such a minor inconvenience
(the rage-beast was dying to get out)
quickly turned to hope.
I could see
by the size and shape
of the envelope
that it wasn’t going to be addressed
to “our valued customer.”

Suddenly less aware of the water bullets
and line of cars that sped by
inches from me,
I reached down
to the wet ground,
and within a second,
my heart leapt.
It was another letter from you –
my dear friend.

I quickly worked my way back home,
eager to discover what was inside
the small envelope.
I did not care
whether your words this day
would be of encouragement,
joy, anger, or sorrow.
All that mattered is that you wrote –
to me
and that whatever I would find
on the enclosed page,
it would be good and true,
because you are good and true.

My journey to the mailbox
opened my heart today.
And the beast of rage
found rest
in your simple act of love.
And for that,
dear friend,
I thank you -