Youthful Memories

Have you saved old love letters from your youth? Come read “Youthful Memories”


I still have the love letters men, or perhaps boys, sent me in the past years. On some days, I read and laugh at these innocent displays but, on most days, they remain tucked in the bottom of my drawer.

It was back in high school when I first stumbled upon John Keats. Since then, my young heart have been and will always be envious of Fanny Brawne for having a man write to her with so much love and warmth.

I remember, once, a man said he’d write me a letter. I spent days and nights in anticipation but it never came. What happened in between that promise and my waiting, I do not know. Perhaps gone are the men like John Keats. Or maybe love just simply changed.

the moon casts its shine
upon the aged letters—
youthful memories

In response to dVerse’s Haibun Monday: Handwriting hosted by

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Do you believe in your strength?


Pivoting personalities
doing your best to be everyone
for everyone.
Mother, daughter, wife
cook, cleaner, companion
putting on apron after apron but
never having time to dirty your hands.

A revolving door of weak, disappointing men
men who don’t pick you up from the airport
or pick up after themselves
those who demand recognition for chores
while you silently scrub the stove.

You’ve become the saddest slaughterhouse
a pair of hands, a mind to boggle
he asked for your opinion,
took it to the office, but still to his colleagues you are
boardroom businessman and wife.

May your tears turn to windshield raindrops
your daughters and nieces chase
for the rest of their lives.

May you be a maternal role model
of every girl’s massive mind.
May your apron be smeared by the tears of all the narrow men
who never believed in the strength
you always knew you possessed.

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