Epistolary Poem
Epistolary Poem
A Letter to…
A Letter to…
Write a poem in the form of a letter. Your poem should be addressed to someone or something, real or imagined, living or dead, past or future.
Personal (to a loved one, an estranged friend, a childhood self)
Historical (to a figure from the past, or someone who will never write back)
Surreal (to the wind, to the ocean, to a forgotten sock under your bed)
Regretful, angry, hopeful, longing, uncertain— you decide the emotional tone.
Unlike a normal letter, an epistolary poem uses vivid imagery, strong emotions, and poetic devices to make the letter come alive.
The poem must be written as a letter (with an opening like "Dear ___" and a closing).
The speaker must be addressing someone or something directly.
The poem should reveal something important about the speaker’s thoughts, emotions, or perspective.
The poem can be conversational, formal, fragmented, lyrical— you control the voice and tone.
Think about who (or what) you are writing to. Why does the speaker need to send this letter?
Decide on the emotional weight. Is this a confession? A farewell? An apology? A wish?
Use strong imagery and sensory details. The best letters aren’t just thoughts; they recreate a world.
Leave room for subtext. What is the speaker not saying outright? What emotions simmer under the surface?
To a childhood toy you lost
To your future self, years from now
To the one who got away
To the city you left behind
To the last dream you remember
To the rain, asking why it never stops
To the person who will one day love you
To the person who will never forgive you
"Letter to the Past" by Natasha Trethewey
"Dear John Wayne" by Louise Erdrich
"A Letter to the Person Who Carved His Initials Into the Old Oak Desk" by Eve L. Ewing
Dear orange menace, lord of the kitchen tiles,
you watch me sleep—not with love, but with study.
A scientist observing test subjects,
charting my weaknesses in the glow of the nightlight.
You blink slowly, a calculated pause,
then shred the couch with your indifferent claws.
You brush against my leg like a whispered apology,
then knock my glass off the table, just to see.
And yet—
When the world is heavy, pressing thick against my ribs,
you curl like firelight against my chest.
Your purr vibrates through my bones,
smoothing the frayed edges of the day.
You demand food with the confidence of royalty,
then drape across my lap, an offering of warmth.
Your tail flicks, a metronome of quiet judgment,
but your eyes hold something older than cruelty.
I wake at 3 AM to find you perched,
staring, still as a portrait in the dim blue light.
Are you waiting for my final breath, or simply
waiting for breakfast?
You—ruler of both malice and mercy.
You—tyrant with velvet paws.
You—my sharp-toothed, soft-hearted assassin,
who never lets me sleep in, but always lets me stay.
With grudging affection,
Your faithful servant.