Your white envelopes, arriving bimonthly, dinged and wrinkled from the journey, I lift by the corner with finger and thumb carry it queitly to the nearest table, lay it down softly and with one hand smooth it out so that it is flat and crisp and ready. sometimes I use one finger, and a fingernail, but this time I take up the letter opener, like an antique dagger and enter through the tiny hole where the flap meets the corner and slice. cutting slowly, with full attention, but firmly until the top of the envelope opens and with a slight shake or shiver, you slide on out. And now I take you up in both hands, unfold your sentences and tumble into your sheets