Poet’s Mailbox

Alexander Levering Kern

To write is to bleed ugly,
and by grace, to bleed true.
But they don’t issue tourniquets,
only band-aids, for the soul shredded
by envelopes bearing bad news.
Then one day the cosmic jester laughs.
You drive home through winter fog thick
as cigarette smoke with Bob Marley singing
about Waiting in Vain, Running Away,
Lord Gotta Keep on Movin’
and like Bob you know down deep
that every man thinks his burden
is the heaviest. The shaggy prophet
soothes your wound with palliative
sweetsong like Gilead’s balm.
Arriving home, you open the box to find
Acceptance at last! You remember
that old man who once said
Salvation means only this:
to accept that you are accepted.
Laughing out loud, you jump up,
who knows where.

Landing, you touch down in the fragrant
soil of serendipity, smiling as you spy
the title of your tiny poem deemed worthy:
“Good News Given.”

Copyright © Alexander Levering Kern