Subtext II
This morning’s inbox: an email of dubious origin.
And though initially cautious,
curiosity bested all circumspection.
You, always the bolder, had tracked me down.
I was intrigued and elated,
yet somewhat bemused.
Your phrasing was restrained.
You were never restrained.
So, how to reply to a text short on context?
I needed a sign. Google’s typeface,
aptly named “Roboto,” gives nothing away,
unlike the notes you would leave on the kitchen table
after a night of heated disagreement,
in which sharp words uncoiled like razor wire,
only later to be assuaged by “missing you” letters
from your speaking tours out West—
ringlets of adoration in rose-scented ink.
As children of the Palmer Method,
cursive carried not just the messages
but the moods of our lives back then—
times we might re-explore,
if you wanted to.
Send me your snailing address.
There’s a ballpoint around here somewhere.
© R. A. Allen
R. A. Allen has published in the New York Quarterly, B O D Y, The Penn Review, RHINO, The Los Angeles Review, Pennine Platform, The Waxed Lemon, etc. His work has been nominated for a BOTN and two Pushcarts. He has fiction in publications such as The Literary Review, The Barcelona Review, PANK, and Best American Mystery Stories. He lives in Memphis, the one on the Mississippi River.
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