It's your birthday
it would be, anyway
if you hadn't-
that's not the point.
You would have been 53.
This is odd.
Because I wasn't even 27 then
those seven years ago
I don't know why it has bothered me
so terribly
these past few days.
You've been very much alive in my mind
and I know that if I wait long enough
you'll go back farther
until I forget
how pained I felt
how empty Manhattan was that afternoon
when it was unseasonably warm
and the breeze was cool
and the cigarette did nothing
and the coffee,
the whole diner
smelled like wet dog.
I missed you then.
This still doesn't make sense to most people
why I would sincerely miss someone I'd only met once
for a minute
before you were off
to the next person in line
and never thought of me again.
I like to doubt you ever got my letter.
It makes me feel better to think
that you didn't choose to ignore
the words of a silly college student,
trying to make herself worthy of any attention.
I'd rather believe that the man who said he'd pass it on
simply forgot,
deemed it unimportant,
tossed it aside
and you went on,
ignorant of my letter.
I feel better that way.
That way, you stay kind.
Everyone says you were kind.
Even now.
I believe them.
They would know better than I do.
I just wish you hadn't gone skiing.
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Dear L,
It's been fourteen years
and one day
since you left.
I don't miss you.
I never missed you.
Your death meant nothing to me then
because I didn't know you then
and I can't know you now
because of what you did.
I was six years younger than you
and now, I'm eight years older.
Does that bother you?
Probably not.
Where you are, I believe, there is no bother
there is no regret or second guessing
because I believe that when we go
we're gone
except in memory
and laughter
and joy
but you left us none
and so
that's it, I suppose.
It bothers them,
the ones who stood by you
knew you well enough to know
something was wrong
but dismissed it
and now,
thanks to you,
have a lifetime of wondering
what could have, would have happened
if they had stayed later
called more
prevented the unpreventable.
It bothers them more every year.
And now I've been swept up in it.
And you're not here to say you're sorry
Like I believe you are
or would be.
You're not here when so many hang their heads in sadness
every eighth day of September.
You're not here to laugh with
and celebrate with.
You're not here.
And someday, maybe soon,
another scared girl
will be faced with the same decision
you faced then.
And you will be the best,
if not the only person to save her.
And you won't be here.
And it will never get better for you.
And for that, I'm sorry.
******************************************************************************************************
Dear [name redacted],
It's been five years now. Isn't that strange? It doesn't seem that long. I can remember so clearly how much I loved you then - that's not the right word for it. I did love you. I love a lot of people. But saying that I loved you implies that I felt some primal urge that I simply did not feel. It was not a romantic or physical love. It was a true, enduring, friendly love - the kind that makes you look forward to a day at work you would otherwise dread. It was that kind of love. That kind that made me wish we were closer in age so maybe then you would view me in the same regard as I viewed you. Maybe it would mean meeting regularly for coffee and discussing our children's antics in the supermarket cereal aisles. But I didn't have children then. I don't have children now. And we have our own sets of people.
It's been five years. Isn't that strange? I'm still hoping for coffee.
Love,
Lily
******************************************************************************************************
Dear God,
Please be kidding.
Love,
Lily
******************************************************************************************************
I am sorry: An open letter to Sarah Palin
originally published on The Buzz About on December 22, 2010
Dear Sarah Palin,
Please accept my sincerest apologies. You have, several times, asked me a very important question, one for which you deserve an answer. However, so far, I have yet to give you a response. Your question, albeit maddening, was legitimate and deserved a quick, though well-thought-out answer. Again, I am very sorry and I hope that my attempt to answer you now with make up for the inexcusable delay.
Earlier (much) this year, you asked me and my fellow Obama Supporters: "how's that hopey changey thing workin' out for ya?" Admittedly, when you first asked it, I thought you were kidding. "Maybe she's trying to get some good material for some sort of reality show." I thought. But I was wrong. Eventually, after hearing your question replayed again and again, I seemed to forget that you even asked it. I got swept up in the liberal, left-wing, vicious, evil, blah-blah-blah, socialist, grandma-killing, coffee drinking, etc, etc, etc machine. Damn that Rachel Maddow. Not only is she a member of the Liberal Elite in the Mass Media, she's one of them there gays. Creepy.
So I went months without even thinking of a response. This is simply unacceptable. Please forgive me. Seriously, please. You have guns. Granted, it took you four shots to hit a caribou, but if Dick Cheney ever gives you any tips... well, I can't walk around the rest of my life covering my face to shield them from bullets. I am already hanging my head in shame.
But you deserve an answer. So here it is. You asked how the hopey changey thing was working out for me.
- Don't Ask, Don't Tell was repealed.
- The Food Safety Bill was passed.
- The Zadroga Bill was passed.
- The START Treaty was passed.
So, in response to your question: the hopey changey thing is going just fine. How's the whole second booky thing working out for you?
Tepid regards,
(Note: I just meant this to be a funny little letter - one I never intended to send. I posted it on facebook simply to make my friends laugh. One friend, who works at The Buzz About, asked if she could publish it on the site.)
******************************************************************************************************
