mailbox

sometimes i go to the mailbox
to have someone to talk to.
the junk mail might as well
be pigeons. i say, "i am looking
for a letter." the mailbox purses
his lips & says, "i have nothing
for you." he is always lying.
there is always something.
even if you know no one
& own nothing there will
be mail for you. a local plumber.
a politician's wax face. the mailbox
really likes to talk about black holes.
he says, "one could come at 
any moment." i don't want to know
more about physics so i don't
google whether or not this is true.
instead, i accept it. maybe a black hole
could keep me company too. could even
transport me a heart
from a creature in another dimension.
something for me to chew on
in the dark. i admit to the mailbox
on day, "i do not think 
anyone knows me." the mailbox
spits out a letter that i sent
to a friend years ago. it never
reached her. thank god. i have
this problem with thinking
i'm in love when really i'm just 
trying to catch my own ghost. 
i invite the mailbox inside for dinner
& he declines. he says, "it is busy
around here." no cars have passed 
since i've come out. the street is bare
& freckled with salt from the last
snowstorm. a therapist once told me,
"you should never assume what
someone thinks. ask them
or move on." but she didn't understand.
it is always safer not to know.
i do not ask the mailbox if 
he thinks we are friends or
if he doesn't like me enough
to have dinner with me. i just imagine
a circus behind the door. 
something that only he can keep running.
maybe a bird or a rat is coming
to lay inside his mouth tonight.
sometimes, i sleep with my mouth open
in the hopes that i will steal his job.
wake up with a mouth filled
with words. letters. paper cuts.
a package of shiny little beads.