298th post

I wish someone would knock on your door, just as in the old days, and hand you a letter, just as in the old days.

Open the package and find a bundle of light inside. Bring it close, let the light fall into your eyes, and let your heart brighten.

Let there be a heap of kisses in the package.

your grandfather’s kiss, your father’s kiss when you were two,

the first kiss at the wedding ceremony,

your mother’s kiss when you fell to the ground,

the kiss of someone who loved you in a way no one else ever did.

Take out a stack of black-and-white photographs that have never been recorded anywhere until now

in which you are beautiful,

in which you are happy, in which you belong to a place very, very far away, in which many people who are not here now appear in those photos.

I wish there were a small bottle in the package that smells of your father’s clothes, your mother’s cooking,

the scent of the oleaster trees behind your elementary school,

the smell of the hot, yellow suede sandals in the summer yard.

May the sound of “I love you” come out of it —

your grandmother’s “I love you” that used to go, “my dear, your eyes,”

your father’s “I love you” that leapt from his throat into his eyes,

The clink of a coin falling from the street telephone kiosk into the money tray.

I wish there were something there that you could pick up.

I wish that package would take you to the sweetest, most beautiful moment of your life that happened only once.

If only someone would knock on our door like in the old days.