Each card unanswered was not a deterrent

By stubbornness or faith, she maintained her position

To include him by sending unwanted invitations

And to inform him though silence was his condition.

Why didn’t she resign herself to the truth

That the pride that is too big in a moment

Becomes a hole of regret, an embarrassing wound

That consumes a shared future of a life well spent

On loving through sorrow and laughing through joy

Or singing at birthdays and kissing new babies?

You can’t return words; it’s easier sometimes

To overthink possibilities, should-haves and maybes.

But for decades she sent mail, past arguments past,

Until one evening, a letter from him. At last.