Tara Allan

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The Last Letter

I write a letter
and another
a letter for every pill I swallow,
every vial of blood relinquished for the microscope,
every moment of a life laced with pain,
poisoned by disability.

I write more letters

for the years,
for the moments of fear I cannot survive
the curse inherent in the witch's apple
or the venom inflicted
by the snake at my heel.

I write letters
for the lost angels who have no voice,
too weary from tears
of agony, abandonment, isolation, pain --
confused angels
in an alien landscape
that once was home --
a twisted deja vu
moving backward.

I wrote a letter to you
pages and pages never mailed
with only one plea -- help me.

My pen is weary,
my hand is still,
my heart is spent.

I no longer know the words to write
or remember the name to sign.

Perhaps someday
I will write one final letter,
place it in a bottle
and throw it to the sea.

Reproduced with permission from CATHARSIS, volume 11, April 1994.

© Tara Allan, 1996

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