Write No Other Letters

I never know where this will find you
or how to begin.

Maybe you could look for me
in between the planks
where the seams touch,
push, and creek against the
pressure of one another,
against the pressure of the sea.

The wax, the mung, the hairs,
and fallen bits of dinner
or fallen bits of men

Are you hunting again my dear?
Or is it once more peaceful
in your icy kingdom?
Here it is noisy,
and yes,
there is war.

Please
send no other letters.
I cannot bear to imagine
your hand moving across the page.

Write no other letters,
but appear to me
and write your letters
then
at the small of my back.

©Antonia Small