You cross your ‘t’s and dot your ‘i’s
And there is no missing hump in your ‘m’s
You loop your ‘y’s, ‘j’ and ‘g’s
And your words do not fall below the lines
Your paper shines like marble
And your words are deeply etched
As if you were a rock climber
Who pounds the nail in the rock
To make steady footholds.
Your father taught me rock climbing.
He had strong finger tips
And sharp eyes.
He placed the nails firmly
Passed the rope through the hooks
And climbed step by step.
When he reached the top of the cliff
He turned back and looked down
And a smile unknotted his brow.
You were born in prison
And your father never saw you.
But I recognized his daughter
When I saw your letter today:
Your sentences are short like a sigh
And sometimes they hit the heart
Like a bullet.
