Getting Lost

My old letters are a map of my friendships.

I’m glad I have saved them to find my way back

Along the trail of all the scattered postmarks

And late addresses.

Some have become landmarks for my memory

So I need no legend to find my way.

I open one, seeking an aroma,

But no aroma

Rises from the envelope except the smell

Of moldy paper. Had there ever been perfume

Touched to that page? The words tell me nothing

They had not told me

Twenty years ago. Her signature’s firm

Lines still etch the same boundary I never

Crossed; I never intended to cross, although

Today I smile.

I know that I once wandered through that letter

Wondering how my directions to her could

Have ever been so misunderstood.  Friendship

Then had gotten lost.