Carry them together in your best purse
or otherwise, perhaps a favorite suitcase. Leave the city.
Find a park where all the families have at least one dog,
then scatter your envelopes like a blanket and lay over them.
Read as many as you can before the sun goes down.
Try not to hustle through the dull parts.
When a child sees you bent over one that still hurts
he will approach you with five sticks.
These are for the monsters in the trees behind you.
When he shouts, turn. Shoot his fake arrows
at nothing, for this is the task of forgiveness,
your only weapon the shape of your hands aimed
at your own long shadow. The letters are ready now.
The paper will become someone’s paper, and the words
will hold new words.