Dead Letters

I've been having this problem with my PO box which is that I never get any mail.  I assumed it was the ordinary version of that problem (no one mails me  anything), but then someone contacted me, asking if I'd received a check he mailed a check 10 days ago.  

There's only one problem you can have with a post office box.  If you have a car, you might have windshield wipers that don't work, or a weird rattle at a certain speed.  Or even a phone, which might be a little better metaphor, could have various problems.  But there's only one thing that can go wrong with a PO box.

And, if you have that problem, you can either have to just suck it up and just go to the post office every day to read the obituaries on the window, knowing you won't get mail, or you can tangle with the weird bureaucracy that is the federal government.  Neither option looks good.

I decided to test the system by mailing something to myself.  I rummaged around in my car and found an envelope and a stamp.  It seemed like I should put something in the envelope.  Right?  Because, even if it's self-addressed and turns up in my box in one day, I know that I'll want to open it.

So I rummaged around in my car some more, and found a poem that a friend gave me recently.  It's been kicking around in my vehicle for a few weeks, and I read it at traffic lights.  I think his point, or at least the point of the poem, is that it's good for the world to struggle and be honest, even though it's not always fun.   It matters and changes things the way roots making their way through dark hardened soil change things, even though it isn't obvious for a long time.  That seems like a good thing to think about when I'm waiting for the light to change.  

Anyway, to get to the point -- I folded it up and put it in the envelope addressed to myself, and thought sheesh, now I've become that person, the person who mails love(ish) poetry to myself.  The only thing that could make this any worse is if I decorated the envelope. But the second thing I noticed is that I felt tiny bit sad when I dropped it in the box.  

Goodbye little poem.  I hope I see you again, or if I don't, I hope you find your way to the dead letter office or somewhere else where you'll do your quiet magic.