A Charge

My cousin’s son called.
He’s clearing out his father’s
stuff.  L.F. has been gone
for some time; the son needed
some time to grasp the absence.

The son found the collection 
of postcards that I sent
to my cos when my cos was
confined, as it were, to his demise.

Thank you the son said,
Dad saved these carefully.
Getting mail must have matter.
They were bundled together.

Years ago, as a mild
and self-bemused antiquarian,
I began sending postcards,
post email, to various and sundry.

The hobby provides a task
upon any museum visit.
I’ve quite the selection.
No want for postcards in my study.

The hobby takes some effort, some planning: 
buy the cards, buy stamps, address the card, 
figure out what to write
in a smallish space.

But not much effort.  I don’t
write much: Hi. Bought some
apples today.  Green, tart, 
crunchy. Maybe you like apples too.

Or a haiku:
Make up your mind, Snail!
You are half inside your house
And halfway out.*

On rare occasions
busy and wordless
I might just draw
a happy face.

Or a sad one
if that appropriate
to recipient and occasion.

My cos’ son thanked me for
the thought from cos to cos
that could be held
revisited treasured

He said this mattered to his dad.
So my charge, dear readers:
Send a postcard or two.
They cheer people up.

Perhaps send one and another again.
The good Lord knows
Cheering up is what we need
Nowadays.

*Richard Wright

May 2, 2025
4th Iyyar