An Ode to the Mail Lady

I’ve been cleaning out boxes and going through old letters. In the process, I uncovered a stack of letters from my late father. Dad died more than twenty-five years ago and most of the letters were written when I was in college. My father was very funny. In my freshman year, he wrote me a poem about homesickness entitled, “An Ode to a Girl Named Laura.”

I often write silly poems to my daughter, partner, and friends for birthdays and holidays. It’s when I feel most connected to my father. My daughter now writes me a silly poem every year on my birthday and mother’s day. She has the same quirkiness that my dad had, that I have and it delights me every time I get one of her poems. 

There’s a smiley mail carrier in my neighborhood. She doesn’t deliver my mail, but she serves the blocks around me and I often see her when I’m walking my dog Freckles. Freckles is a chubby little Shih Tzu and he attacks our poor mailman Troy. But whenever he sees the smiley female mail carrier he waddles up to her and sniffs her ankles. She always stops to say hi and laughs at how ridiculously slowly Freckles walks. She hoists her mailbag behind her so he can bend down to hold out her hand for him to sniff. 

This mail carrier seems young. But she’s been delivering mail around here for at least fifteen years so she can’t be that young. She wears a baseball hat with her ponytail sticking out of the back opening. Though she has a mask, she wears it down on her chin so I can see her wide smile when we pass each other. 

Even the mail carrier’s walk is happy. She always has a pep in her step; she reminds me of Huck Finn walking towards the pond to go fishing while his friends whitewash his aunt’s fence. Even though she’s delivering mail, it’s like she’s on a happy adventure.

I always appreciate seeing this mail carrier. Today when I passed her we had our usual smiley exchange. It was raining and she and Freckles and I were all wet. But she smiled and laughed and bent down to let Freckles smell her hand like she always does.

As she walk-skipped towards her mail van the beginning of a poem a la my father started forming in my head.

Here’s an ode to the happy mail lady.

Wears her hat to stay in the shady.

Smiles all over the neighborhood streets.

Petting every fat dog she meets.

She doesn’t know the impact she makes.

Just being herself is all that it takes

To brighten the days of neighbors she sees

As she cheerily walks beneath the big trees.

I’m thankful for the many hours she walks

to deliver each letter.

Just seeing her face always makes me feel better. 

I’m too shy to actually tell the mail lady how she makes me feel, but I hope my smile gives her some idea.