Found a underneath the bed
With a faded blue from years ago
Postcards curled at every edge
Addresses written in my own old hand
One said “Dear boy you’ll learn to stay”
One said “Don’t trade your wonder in”
One had no date no place no name
Just a little drawing of a paper plane
I wrote to the me I was
And the me I couldn’t be
To the kid who left the porch light on
To the man I hoped I’d see
No stamp no town no postmark line
Just words I kept inside
A full of almost-goodbyes
To every version of my life
There was one from a summer camp
With pine dust caught along the seam
I told that boy the ache would pass
Though I still don’t know quite what that means
Another wore a kitchen stain
From the year I moved across the state
It said “You’ll miss the old refrain”
And underneath “It isn’t too late”
I wrote to the me I was
And the me I couldn’t be
To the kid who left the porch light on
To the man I hoped I’d see
No stamp no town no postmark line
Just words I kept inside
A full of almost-goodbyes
To every version of my life
If I could send them anywhere
I’d choose the house we’re living in
Leave them by the coffee maker
Let tomorrow read them first
I wrote to the me I was
And the me still learning free
To the hands that held on too long
To the heart that let go gently
No stamp no town no postmark line
But I don’t need to hide
This of almost-goodbyes
Can open with my life
So I tied the cards with kitchen string
And placed them by the door
For every self I’ve carried here
And every one still more
