Post by Kit on Feb 23, 2010 17:49:22 GMT 10
Title: Fearing
Length: 251
Rating: G
Competitor: Baird
Round: 1/D
Summmary: Distance does strange things
Baird.
I’m not sure what to say, again. Some words leave room for pauses—particularly in Yaman, but also, now, the words you sent. I’m not sure if I understand them, but they did make me stop what I was doing and just sit a moment. Is this how one is supposed to respond to poetry? I’m thinking of you, and Midwinter Luck if we’re both too busy on the day.
Your friend,
Kel.
P.S. I’m sure you should be sleeping rather than writing such things. Do I need to remind you to ea your vegetables, too?
Love,
K.
Dear Baird.
No word in a fortnight? I understand you’re busy, of course, but it’s a little worrying to receive poetry one minute and have silence for days on end. Is this silence my fault—perhaps the messenger was careless? I hope you caring, and cared for, and that all my worries are just mad ghosts from long, cold evenings with the same company.
I do miss you.
Kel.
Length: 251
Rating: G
Competitor: Baird
Round: 1/D
Summmary: Distance does strange things
Baird.
I’m not sure what to say, again. Some words leave room for pauses—particularly in Yaman, but also, now, the words you sent. I’m not sure if I understand them, but they did make me stop what I was doing and just sit a moment. Is this how one is supposed to respond to poetry? I’m thinking of you, and Midwinter Luck if we’re both too busy on the day.
Your friend,
Kel.
P.S. I’m sure you should be sleeping rather than writing such things. Do I need to remind you to ea your vegetables, too?
Love,
K.
She is too busy for it, of course, but she adds post mistress to her list of duties, sorting through letters: from home, from other outposts, from somewhere obscured by rain smudge or simple bad writing, until her thumbs are stained blue and her nailsbeds are full of sealing wax. She sorts, she knows her charges better from the flashes she takes as the missives find hands. Relief. Hope. Yearning. Fear. Frustration. Grief. Confusion. Excitement. Indifference.
She reads, and feels, all of that.
Dear Baird.
No word in a fortnight? I understand you’re busy, of course, but it’s a little worrying to receive poetry one minute and have silence for days on end. Is this silence my fault—perhaps the messenger was careless? I hope you caring, and cared for, and that all my worries are just mad ghosts from long, cold evenings with the same company.
Kel.
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!