Direct Address

On the floor of another rented room
I’m ripping up letters you sent six years since –
block capitals which you wrote to erase me;
ornate almost, the marks that you made.

Behind hallway curtains where my mother found me
down on my knees, barefoot in pyjamas,
tearing each page of the phone directory
but leaving the light blue cover intact.


About Vince Stephen

You can find information about me on my blog's "About" page.
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