I keep no count of syllables or words
to confine the letters I write you
for when you are old enough to understand.
Instead, I scribble until my ballpoints break
and the shoebox lids no longer fit.
I pour out rivers of affection
and oceans of hope,
as if from an ever-flowing inkwell.
I cannot breathe life into the dead,
but I will write you stories of your father
from the childhood we shared,
and I will carry the pride of two
to shower down on all you do
when others let things fade into silence.
Although I am far from you now,
my thoughts do not stray from you
nor all the tribulations you face.
I wish I could lift you into the sky
and spin you until my arms are tired
and say how much you've grown,
how happy I am to see you,
how lucky I am to be with you,
but Life makes small my hopes and I.
So let this epigraph be your future:
may you never know a love with conditions,
may your challenges teach you growth,
may your friendships flourish like dandelions
with dreams carried far and wide,
may you find wholeness and humor
your most constant companions—
and when you open each envelope,
may you feel the connection and joy
I bequeath in trust with every tear
of distance I shed now.
With all my love,
Auntie
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