Dead Letter

The envelope has been through a war of sorting,

with three different barcodes printed on the back.

It sat in a bin in a windowless room

while the seasons turned from green to black.

You’re inviting me to a house you don't live in,

to see the curtains you’ve already taken down.

The postmark is blurred by a smudge of grey ink,

a cancellation of a life in a different town.

I hold the paper and feel the delay

like a punch that lands long after the fight.

The news is a fossil, a cold piece of stone

that finally arrived in the middle of the night.