Summer Postcards

Old Ferry Point

Summer reminds me of those old postcards

we sent and received over the years -- 

cryptic notes, smudged wishes, illegible names -- 

all crammed into 3 or 4 inches of space.

They always arrived on someone's doorstep

after we had been home for days, too.

Wychmere Harbor

And the choosing of just the right card for just the right person

always a tricky deal, wasn't it?

I remember sending postcards to my boyfriend (now my husband)

and hoping to strike the right tone -- not too mushy, not to trite,

how to let him know I missed him without committing myself ?

Grey Skies

They are usually scattered throughout one's house,

in drawers and small boxes labeled vacation 

or something like that,

wrapped in a ribbon or with a bit of yarn,

tucked next to old letters and

the children's school projects in a jewelry box or drawer.

Treasures of our past lives, mementos of fun times,

fragments of a well-navigated journey

(or not)

Provincetown View

Years from now, will my children find these artifacts of my life?

Will they care and cart them back to their homes

to be tucked back into another drawer?

I hope so.

And every time they lift them to find something else,

a drift of perfume, perhaps a grain of sand,

will tumble past them

and I'll be

there . . .

All images are available as real postcards and prints
at my site on Redbubble;
(background textures created by Ghostbones,
Skeletalmess, Telzey and Playingwithbrushes on Flickr;
Custom brushes and text by myself)