Without constancy, there is neither love, friendship,
nor virtue in the world. —Joseph Addison
I write you every day, not because I have something
new or world-changing to tell you—although
I would love to tell you something that would change
at least your world—but because I know
you want to know that I am here still, that somewhere
in a world you’ve barely known there is a rock to cling to.
So here I am again. Today is Monday.
Yesterday was Sunday, and tomorrow
will be Tuesday. Please know I am not dead,
I am not ill, I have not wrecked my car,
or come down in a plane, or been blown up by terrorists.
Please know I have not abandoned you.
I try to conjure what a friend on the outside is like for you
and find I’m up against that old conundrum,
the one about the tree, the forest, and the sound.
You do not know it? Here it is: When a tree falls
in the forest, does it make a sound if no one’s there to hear?
No one with, perhaps, a panicked heart,
a sudden hard contraction in the belly,
no one awed and terrified by this momentous crash.
And then, of course, what follows on from that:
if no one’s there to see it, is there a tree at all?
And so on to the forest, and so on . . . Or is it all
inside some solipsistic mind, the mind of God perhaps?
See how the question shifts, becomes more slippery?
And yet for people out here in the world it is old hat,
a riddle of a type, offered by professors to beginning thinkers,
who maul it with beginning minds, and then dismiss it with a joke.
To them it is an exercise without an application.
To you, however, it is urgent, real.
Each Friday when I leave the cramped,
sour-smelling visitation booth, you consume yourself
with worry that I have gone for good,
that friendship—all those affirmations—
has vanished down the creaking elevator labeled
Danger! Occupants no more than four!
And next week wait on your side of the viewing glass,
fraught in your flaming jumpsuit,
head bowed, praying I will come, praying
for that miracle again, praying that there really is
a world out there where trees fall with a crash,
that one day you will come with me to listen.