September 2019
Note: When I was teaching creative writing, I gave my poetry students an assignment to write a poem that could fit on a postcard, later expanding the parameters to allow up to 20 lines. I became fascinated with the physical characteristics of travel postcards, the front which often included a photograph or drawing, and the flip side which had space for both address and a brief message. I then wrote a series of postcard poems, some using the postcard as a central image (and later abandoning my self-imposed 20-line rule). For more examples, see my poems in: michael-minassian-2016-march.html and michael-minassian-2017-january.html
DEATH OF THE POSTCARD
On a creased rectangle
of thin cardboard
words appear indecipherable:
what matters is the method –
the elegant sprawl of handwriting,
the plaintive tone
of the wounded lover,
the razor slash of goodbye,
the guilty rant of the culpable
no matter how innocent –
the quaint communiqué
before the advent of the acronym,
twitter, and text shorthand:
the slight elevation
of the aching heart
a forgotten eyelash
the lover’s sigh:
what does open
communication
really mean?
-originally appeared in New Ulster, 2017.
POSTCARD FOUND ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD
Tire tracks and insect guts
darken the photo on reverse
of a roadhouse painted red –
a neon guitar and bottle of beer
on the roof, and on the backside
in the space for an address:
two words: you bastard
then a street and city name
and the only message, somewhat
smeared by tears or whiskey:
You know who this is….
-originally appeared in Meadow, 2015
© 2019 Michael Minassian
Editor's Note: If this poem(s) moves you please consider writing to the author (email address above) to tell him or her. You might say what it is about the poem that moves you. Writing to the author is the beginning of community at Verse Virtual. It is very important. -FF