On Receiving An Anonymous Letter In The Mail Yesterday in Which I Am Told My Father Was Not My Father



I knew from the moment
I saw the nondescript
white envelope, no return address,
my name misspelled,
that I probably should not open it.

And I didn't then. I
waited until I got to work,
in the safety of flourescent lights
and coworkers who don't have enough
vested interest in me to do particularly
much when, two minutes after reading it,
I walk into one of their rooms and tell them
that I'm not who I thought I was.
That my father might not have been
my father.


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