17 March 2025

By Philip Kuepper

M.
The letter “m” has long
scrolled my life with its song.
My late mate’s Christian
and surnames began with “M”.
The town where I live
begins with “M”, as does the place
to which I am just now emailing these poems.
There is an “m” in email.
There is an “m” in poem.
But there is no “m” in row,
or in shell, or in oar.
Is this significant?
I ask. For I am
trying to place myself
in the Universe. I am
trying to place the earth
in the Universe, the earth
where the “m” places
Mystic and Malmö exist.
Is this significant, or not?
Certainly not to the Universe.
The Universe needn’t concern itself
with anything other than itself, if that.
All the Universe needs is to be the Universe.
As for significance, significance is
always only relative.
The letter “m”, and its part
in a word, written,
and the sound of it when spoken,
these matter, not only to me,
but, also, to this poem.
Without “m”, this poem could never have been.

(11 March 2025)