Return to Sender

The depth of the hole

becomes abundantly clear

when the mailman throws me in.

​

​

The colors of the street

smear and fade

to blurry muted streaks

as I plummet for a seeming eternity,

clutching onto a letter for dear life.

​

​

Enveloped by this hollow world,

a diamond dust floor

breaks my fall and kicks up

a neon pink mist.

​

​

The disorienting haze engulfs

the dim and damp cavern,

its hardscrabble walls impossible to scale,

and only a pinprick of light overhead

to show how far I’ve fallen.

​

​

I pull out my phone

and am confronted by

my fractured reflection,

seven faces all

equally lost.

​

​

Fumbling the flashlight on,

I find the letter in my hands

hopelessly crumpled,

the ink bloodlet and illegible.

​

​

I uneasily waft the fluorescent cloud,

and on the walls it unveils glowing fingerprints

in the form of my own handwriting—

​

Let me call you back!

    I should answer his email.

        Maybe later!

            What does he want?

                I’m working, another time?

                    I’ll see you soon, okay?

                        Sorry grandpa, I’m too busy.

​

The words spiral upward into infinity—

some spoken,

some written,

some only ever thought—

but all undeniably mine.

​

​

“I’m so sorry son—”

​

I’m pulled from the shock of this

phantasmal reckoning

by the mailman bellowing

from the false star above—

​

“We simply can’t deliver your letters to heaven.”

​

Feedback: 1. 2.