Hi there, blog readers...

Sorry to be a little MIA. Long story short: I've been busy---summer teaching sure is fun!---but I've been thinking of you and I'm never too busy to share a poem this good. So here it is. See what you think.

THE ILLITERATE

By William Meredith

Touching your goodness, I am like a man
Who turns a letter over in his hand
And you might think that this was because the hand
Was unfamiliar but, truth is, the man
Has never had a letter from anyone;
And now he is both afraid of what it means
And ashamed because he has no other means
To find out what it says than to ask someone.

His uncle could have left the farm to him,
Or his parents died before he sent them word,
Or the dark girl changed and want him for beloved.
Afraid and letter-proud, he keeps it with him.
What would you call his feeling for the words
that keep him rich and orphaned and beloved?


1958