Why I cannot Thank YouA Poem by Sel Whiteley
“It’s like an airport check-in”,
you intone as we stand under the numbers
of a post office desk, laughing
in the way we've done since childhood.
Both of immigrant families. You help me send a parcel to some of my ‘new’ friends,
the sort who sieve through my life
as passengers do through an airport departures “Why do I never get thank you
presents? You ask. I am silenced -
sit in wonderment at the years
I’ve spent in your company, the secrets,
sturdy and thick as a million aldragos, favella-complex, we’ll always share. I try to condense our decades into lines
but I cannot change the blank
of my brain, of the paper and know,
that if every tree in Brazil was felled,
there wouldn’t provide the paper to begin
to thank you for being my best friend.
© 2011 Sel WhiteleyReviews
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Added on August 23, 2009Last Updated on April 7, 2011 Author
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