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Plastic Smile

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An empty plastic smile. Sometimes I think that is all people can give today. There is no genuine laughter, not anymore. There smiles are as fake and malleable as a tub of ware container. There gestures as empty as your envelopes. I write you every day. I lick the stamp and seal it myself. The postman gives me an empty plastic smile.

I know you are gone. I watched the ground, gaping with its wound swallow you whole and close once more. Just like the post office swallows my envelopes. I write you everyday dear. My mother’s hands flutter and dial my number once, twice, three times a day. She took the radio, so I couldn't hear LBJ's hollow voice anymore. They think I am unstable, they think I don’t know you are gone.

I know you are gone, darling, surely as the stars in heaven. But, I know that you watch, I know that you see as I write you, lick, stamp and post. So, I won’t stop writing you letters even if it means my mother’s hands will flutter and the post man give an empty smile. It’s okay. I will keep writing dear.



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otherpoet said...
Dec. 31, 2011 at 9:24 am:
This is a beautiful piece! I love the voice you use :) keep writing!
 
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