The Slant
by Stntes
· 27/11/2025
Published 27/11/2025 13:33
Ten years ago, I didn't lift the pen.
The letters were loops of a confident wire,
running together and back once again
with the messy, tall scrawl of a person on fire.
Now I look at this card for my mother's old age
and compare it to how I sign off on the rent.
The ink skips a beat on the white of the page,
showing exactly where all of the energy went.
It’s cramped and it’s jagged, a defensive print,
with gaps in the middle of every small word.
There isn't a shadow or even a hint
of the person who thought they would always be heard.