Sunday, July 9, 2023

Ringing the Bell, draft no. 2

This poem is for the man who rang

and left the package I ordered

two days ago

to feel better

about myself--

He rang and left the package along with the

letters for me,

though he didn’t leave them,

he put them in my hand--

I have a friend who is a mailman

and he is a good mailman

and I never thought about

the ringing of the bell

the doorbell

I don’t care either way, if the doorbell rings

or not

but my friend said the doorbell

annoys some people

plus it takes longer and he would never

finish his route,

if he rang the doorbell.

This poem is for the other man.

He is not a better man than my friend,

not at all.

I don’t know him, this man that rang my


but when I opened the door,

because it was Saturday and I happened to

be home

I saw that his hands were rough, and they

had bandages.

He had rung my door

and I told him

how grateful I was for him being so kind.

I don’t know if he brings the mail every day.

I don’t often see who brings the mail,

but today I saw who brings the mail

because I understood that he was made

on purpose for a purpose by God

and I wanted to thank him.

It is so nice to be thought of--

sometimes just ringing a bell

is nice

is a gift

is enough--

and you don’t have to stay long.

You don’t even have to come in.

You, whoever you are,

are a gift.