october · the writer's left hand · sent: no
N —
i think it has been four winters. i counted on my fingers and then on the calendar and the calendar agreed with the fingers, which is unusual.
the kitchen is the same kitchen. the kettle is a new kettle, but it whistles the way the old one did, which i take as a small inheritance. i thought you would want to know that.
i am not writing to apologise. i think we both know whose turn it is, and neither of us is certain, and that is the trouble.
tell me about your daughter. you can leave the rest.
— your brother,
the elder
not sent because, at the post office, the writer could not remember which of two addresses was current, and could not bear the thought of the letter coming back. it was placed in a book and the book was reshelved.
two brothers silence apology · correspondence a letter to a father