The Neighbor

The Neighbor

In cryptic cursive he penned
words of gratitude
my cold heart
wondered at the knock
hid behind
unknowing
shameful
that
on a cold and wintry day

I should wonder what he wants
when all he brought
was his  small note
an offering
and laid it by the door

words of thankfulness
I sit
with guilted
pain
ashamed
that I  would rest in vain
repose
frozen
slow to do the same
pen a note of telling
how it is I feel
black pen on gilded cards
left staring at a
hand that cannot write
a few short lines of humble
thanks
I learned from him
the neighbor sent to me
with a shaky cursive hand
still fresh from loss and grief
who poured
into a 2×3
sincerity
this kind response sat at my door
one day when I was covered up in grief

who taught him how to love the sky
at night, I found him staring
at it ablaze, in oranges and reds
I’ve seen him smile and stare
gazing heavenward
awash in grief
I weep at my
ingratitude
oh January finds me
in desperate need
to write a letter
release it from my cold and thankless heart
and had he used the mailbox
rather than my door
I might have missed the chance to
be shaken
by a simple act

I heard the screen open
then
slam and hit the door
awakened by my
neighbor
the neighbor
in cryptic cursive, he penned
words of gratitude.

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