If I were a card
I'd be made of thick obviously recycled paper
there'd be evidence of something somebody didn't mean to throw away
my edges would look hand torn
but would most definitely have been manufactured
created by a sophisticated machine
engineered by an ingenious but not even remotely famous older man
I'd have been printed similarly
to look hand-crafted on a press that was old
but not as old as it might appear
there'd be keystrokes miscued but no broken words
there'd be hidden meaning in there, too
there'd be no price tag or bar code
to wryly elude it was priceless
the imagery would be obvious
perhaps a bit foggy and mystical
because we are the most vulnerable to sincerity or a jolt of adrenaline
when we are still
my words would be a little obtuse to those uninitiated
my words coupled with my images
would tickle up a smile
and tug on a thread, too
I would be short and sweet
whimsical and rhythmic
I would leave space between the lines
to underline some words with more than one stroke
and there'd be plenty of space to make me your own
If I were a card
by David Strand June 7, 2023.
Inspired by my daughter Olivia's and her friends' poetry night last night, and dedicated to my sister, Pam. Because it's her birthday. And I almost forgot to send a card.