Roll Call

Looking through an old, but not ancient, Christmas list I find three names that I shall erase. They no longer occupy houses or read cards or plan Christmas menus. I cross out addresses that no longer receive mail, but don’t erase  names and addresses. There’s something too final by blotting out a name. 

Reading a name conjures up the person. Someone you knew, perhaps someone you would have liked to know better, or someone with whom you shared a history. 

Looking through an old, but not ancient, Christmas list I find people I once knew, but now I barely can conjure up their face even though I can recall small specifics. 

Then there are the names of people I don’t recall. There are no intact memories.

I write unsent letters —in ink or in silence.