I found myself staring at the sky, verklempt over some old addresses.On saying goodbye, getting what you want, and learning to go slowly.

I found myself staring at the sky, verklempt over some old addresses.On saying goodbye, getting what you want, and learning to go slowly.

I found myself staring at the sky, verklempt over some old addresses.On saying goodbye, getting what you want, and learning to go slowly.

Poem #19: mourning the old route

My brother is a letter carrier for the United States Post Office. Every day, he walks around and puts mail into slots on people's houses. He also writes poetry.
Post Office Poems is a series of short meditations on existing in your body in the real world, the joys and tragedies of bureaucracy, and The Mail.
Take a moment with us to consider the glue that holds our mutual lives together: the discount glue, that is only sort of sticky, that you can't get off your shirt.

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My brother is a letter carrier for the United States Post Office. Every day, he walks around and puts mail into slots on people's houses. He also writes poetry. Post Office Poems is a series of short meditations on existing in your body in the real world, the joys and tragedies of bureaucracy, and The Mail. Take a moment with us to consider the glue that holds our mutual lives together: the discount glue, that is only sort of sticky, that you can't get off your shirt.

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Poem #19: mourning the old route

Poem #19: mourning the old route