Postcards

Postcards

I sent you a postcard from this faraway place 
to remind you I am faraway.
I spent too long deciding what to write as I sipped my tiny, lukewarm cappuccino.
My table kept tipping, rocking against the cobblestones of the square.

I settled on a description of the morning.
The cold smoke of the predawn where I was awoken by the rattle of an ox cart and the curses of its driver mixed with the yeowls of stray cats in the alley below my narrow room.

Then I told you about the dream I had of us on the beach building sand castles, pressing shells neatly into the walls of our palace.
Yours and mine.

Finally, I reminded you of the time we ran so hard and so fast we almost threw up.
Last one there, a rotten egg.
All this I squished into the allotted rectangle, spilling a bit to the addressee side to sign off:
Love, ME
though I meant
LOVE me
(please) love me.

I affixed a stamp in the corner.
An old patron saint or warrior, I'm not sure.
Erect and solemn in sepia.

The image on the card itself:
A line drawing of a famous fountain surrounded by a border of embossed flowers.
Morning glories, I think.

I wrote a few more cards.
To my mother:
Everything is good here! Having a blast! But being safe I promise! Though I miss hot coffee. Saw that painting, in person! It really is something else when you stand in front of it. Even though we had the poster over our table all these years! Now I get it. Miss you!
To my best friend:
Wish you were here to pinch me, so I know it's real.
(I'm real.)
I don't know.
Flirted with the stranger and caught my reflection in the mirror behind the bar… Didn't recognize myself.
Can't wait to hear about you and the baby and meet this rug rat!
*	*	*	*	*
I'm home now. 
It's been two weeks. Real life feels like pretend. But I make my coffee and water the plants. I bike through the park to work. Pass the same homeless stranger reading yesterday's paper on the bench by the algae-covered pond.
Like always.

My mom got her postcard.
Children in a line on a field trip, holding hands, looking up at the ruins of the temple.
My friend did not.
A painting of two cherubs sneering down from fluffy clouds, like the old men in the peanut gallery on the Muppets.

Nothing from you, so I don't know if you ever received my painstakingly crafted message. 
Part of me knows, if I have to try so hard… Well, I shouldn't have to try so hard.
For you to see me
and/or
to become a version of myself you want to see.

I should have taken a photo of that postcard.
Not the fountain
which in real life is constantly surrounded by tourists taking selfies
but of my inscription.
To remind me of who I was right then, sitting in the hot piazza at 10 AM wishing for a pint of cold beer instead of my doll-sized coffee.
*	*	*	*	*
Where do all the lost postcards go?
How come we can get prime delivery in 24 hours, 3D print everything from ghost guns and sex toys to prosthetic limbs and window treatments.
But postcards might as well be wish paper cast off on the wind or sent by pidgeon carrier.
*	*	*	*	*
I close my eyes and see red dust.
Bryce Canyon. 
I can feel the grit in my mouth, on my eyelids.
Your strong grip helping me up on a boulder to get a better view.
You laughed when I told you the Bryce Canyon made me think of fairies and aliens at the same time.
You shook your head in a fond but indulgent way.
"C'mon"...
And we shimmied down to the next rock and the next then to a narrow path.
We walked shoulder to shoulder until we couldn't.
You took the lead.
I gave it to you.
And watched your sweat-stained shirt worn at the collar, your sandals swinging from your pack, your shoulders steady and broad.
All of those small dark openings where creatures of the desert make their homes.
*	*	*	*	*
Lost postcards must go somewhere.
And somewhere, someone reads them.
I'd take that job in a heartbeat.
In a red stone, fairy– alien tower, reading coded messages 
to lovers & would-be lovers
neighbors & family
friends & enemies
throughout the ages.
	The weather is fine!
	The weather is worse than predicted but still…
	You'll never guess…
	Who we saw
	What we saw
	Wish you were here
	Wish you were here
	Wish	you	 
        were…
And the unsaid: Wish I was…
	Regards, ______
	Hope you are well
	Always, ______
	love ME
	LOVE me
(please) love me
back.