by Angie Minkin
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| AI-Generated graphic from Shutterstock for The New Verse News |
I write postcards every day in bright blue ink,
the color of the sea, the color of hope.
Do these missives even matter?
Fingers cramped, I stretch, breathe,
step outside, rest in shade, pause,
think of the future, our families, this earth.
These women I write to—
Brittany, Natalie, Peng,
in Arizona, Nevada, Nebraska,
moms who love their kids,
wash the clothes, sweep the floors,
dry the tears, pump the gas.
Shirley, Andrea, Mattie, and Nicole—
we’re all in this together, dear women,
and I see your kids outside playing tag,
sipping water, running free.
My postcards fly to your mailboxes,
homing pigeons with stars and hearts.
Homing pigeons with stars and hearts,
my postcards fly to your mailboxes,
as kids sip water, run free
and I see our kids outside playing tag.
We’re all in this together, dear women,
Shirley, Andrea, Mattie, and Nicole—
dry your tears. Pump the gas,
sweep the floors, wash the clothes.
We’re moms who love our kids
in California, Arizona, Nevada, Nebraska.
Brittany, Natalie, Peng,
I write to you as friends,
so think of our kids, our futures, this earth.
Step outside, sit down in shade, pause.
Stretch cramped hands, breathe.
Do these missives even matter?
I imagine hope the color of the sea. Please
read my bright blue ink, my postcards. Vote.
Angie Minkin is an award-winning Pushcart Prize-nominated San Francisco poet who reads the news and tries not to despair. She stands on her head for inspiration when gazing out the window doesn’t work. Her work has been published in Birdy, Loch Raven Review, The MacGuffin, New Verse News, Rattle, Stirring, Westchester Review, and elsewhere. Her chapbook, Balm for the Living, was published in 2023.
