love letters of Genghis Khan


At a party he was all swagger 

and “did you notice that girl 

hitting on me?” Bluster and beer 

flowing freely along with his humor.

But this was how he was, so full 

of himself you couldn’t find a place 

to sit if he entered a room. 


He wanted to write like Jack Kerouac, 

believed he was a re-incarnation

of Genghis Khan, loved to wear silk 

stockings close to his skin 

under all that black leather.


But he would sit for hours writing love letters 

to a women he’d lost the address for 

years ago. Could not even remember 

her name. But she still haunted him after 

all these years.


Her fragile frame, and winsome smile 

the clench of her failing grip in his 

overlarge hand was hard to forget.

She was his strength in a time 

when no one knew him. But he had 

to remember her because he knew 

how easy it was for people to forget.



c.m. brooks 11-2013


~ by christinambrooks on November 2, 2013.

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