Letter to Myself

A college professor assigned us
A letter to ourselves.
He promised to mail them
Five years hence.

(One wit asked if we should add
Seven one cent stamps
To keep up with the inevitable
Increase in postage.)

The letter never reached me,
Even though I’d addressed it
To my parents and they didn’t move.
Either the professor died,
Or tossed the bundle of letters,
Ignoring his promise.
That makes me a little bit mad.

Even at the time, though,
I found the exercise
Unsatisfactory.

What could my senior year self,
In the first year of marriage,
Possibly have to say to the unknown older Amy?
I would have wanted to impart something
Lovely and profound,
And instead I felt the weight of the stilted comments,
Tongue-tied to myself.