handwrit

There is no welcome home so warm
As being greeted with a package
With your name on it, handwritten.
A great white heap of toughened paper,
or maybe brown,
Stamped and sealed
Signed and delivered and signed for.

Seeing my name in handwriting excites me.
The days of notes passed in class are over.
“Do you like Amanda? Tick yes, no or maybe.”

The long letters girls exchange during summers. Confessions of love and pain and apologies Where teardrops fall and indigo blooms on the page-long gone.
My childhood penpals all found me on Facebook.
Now penned mention of my name is limited
To post-it notes and the backs of old envelopes
“Amanda! Drank your juice, will replace later!”
Messages that could refer to any Amanda
Who ever lived and breathed, anywhere.
Here’s my name and address on a package
From a foreign country
Crossed seas and borders and currency exchanges
Sniffed by dogs, weighed, inspected
First class airmail
And letting me know I must be in the right place.