A Present
By David Subacchi

When I give a present, he said
I give a piece of myself
That’s what it feels like

When I write a letter, he said
I send a piece of myself
That’s what it feels like

So many means
Of fast communication
Yet we say so little
Only the trivial
And we don’t give much
That is of value

A world of virtual silence
Despite the background noise
That’s what it feels like

And his carefully wrapped gift
Still sits there waiting
Though I turn away
Should I pick it up
Tear it open
See what it
Feels like

I am more than just a bag
Of compost, he said
I could have eternal life
That’s what it feels like.