Typing Mom’s Letters
The black lamp hovers over ruled papers
and blue ink, all 70 years old.
Wrapped in paper, the rolled up letters were dated
1941 to 1942. A Webster’s International Dictionary
sits on top of them to straighten them out;
then I iron them. To keep them flat as I transcribe them,
I read through her Pyrex baking dish.
Shining onto a college life of Physics, German,
Sunday movies, the lamp reminds me of a giraffe:
neck curved over the letters, its beam a tongue of light.
.
The Belle Reve Literary Review
April 2013
Editor’s choice
