dear john,
in one hundred years you may find
this letter unfurling in the hands of your grandchildren
will it be better than before
or will sharp pain
still unlock the crimson trail
revealing some truth along the way
these tiny hands grasping at history
the sound of paper tearing
bringing glee across their faces
eyebrows gathered
working to puzzle through
something as troubling
as experience
how far will we have come
to where resolution prompts
a mutual respect
& the spark was lit
ignite
rivet your focus
where the sleight of hand
informs you
(if you practice enough)
one day you may have enough
to pass on to your offspring
again the kettle boils
calling names
what tune does it whistle these days?
looking forward to hearing the melody
love always,
sam
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