the letters arrived
like a surprise: somebody’s recognizable
scrawl, your best friend’s scribbling resonating
through the years, the loopy pink ink
never fading.  Or maybe your mother
reminding you to be wary,
to watch where you were going,

look out for where you might

unexpectedly end up.  A former lover once

from jail, detailing the monotony
of his choices, taking him

where he didn’t want

to be.  Years later you scan the pages

hoping they might show you

where to go.