the mailbox

(for salman)

 

none of the passersby really give much thought

to the mailbox on cropley drive

it's nothing out of the ordinary

it stands about just so high

 

two posts, both straight and sturdy

one dug deep into the ground

the other outstretched just below the top

it stands reverent atop a mossy mound

 

amidst junipers and stepping stones

that line the driveway leading down to the curb

on this quiet little street near the outskirts of town

away from the bustle of the suburb

 

there are no signs, no indications

not that the unknowing eye would see

but this mailbox tells quite a story

of what happened here in '83

 

they were stopped down at the corner

at the stop sign, you can see it from here

they were looking left and right

making sure the intersection was clear

 

but they never saw what was coming

even if they had, there was not enough time

at ninety miles per hour

the drunken driver hit them from behind

 

from a complete stop, they were hit so hard

they travelled all this way

their car came to rest, right here

where letters come and go each day

 

they say it all happened so quickly

there was no room for pain or fear

though before both parents perished in the flames

they threw their little child clear

 

my mom had taught the boy in her preschool class

said he was always happy and smiling

i sometimes wonder where he is now

and how he grew up, life is so beguiling

 

as you can see, there are no tire marks

no obvious reminders as you look around

nothing but these two posts, one outstretched

one dug deep into the ground

 

yet, for those of us who know

we see a reminder, here stands a cross

though to the rest of the passersby on cropley drive

they see nothing more than an old mailbox

 

 

~ janean christine mariani