I found my father's love letters by Roy McFarlane
I found my father’s love letters
in strange and obscure places
often hidden in dark secret spaces,
where memories had closed the doors.
I found blank letters, with matching cards and envelopes.
A small drawer filled with letters unfinished,
crossed through, curling at the edges,
turning in the colour of time.
There was one in Marquez’s Love in a time of Cholera
sandwiched somewhere between
Fermina’s rejection of Floretina
and a lifetime of loving, waiting for true love.
I found some penned in a note pad, half-written, half-thought,
scribbled to capture fleeting thoughts,
earnest in writing the emotional overflow
that time edits into streams flowing over with love.
I found one folded
lost in the attic
an elegy to love
that time had forgotten.
I searched to find the true name to those letters entitled my love.
A secret lover? Distant lover? First time lover?
or even my mother of whom you gave a thousand names
but I never heard you call her my love.
I wonder if they ever received their letters,
an amended version, a completed version
refined and acceptable, filled with rose petals,
signed and sealed with your love.