Although the standard issue pens

were thick, I never quit silenced the fear

that the blacked-out passages

could somehow be read

(a keen eye, a bright window)

until the day I scored

so hard that my nib

punctured the paper, seeded an idea.

I traded the pen for a knife

to cut the tainted sections like a surgeon.

And with this new technique

I learned to be free of the List,

less precious about the author’s intent.

Each letter that crossed my desk

became not so much blueprint

as raw material.

Letters of love and longing,

letters of broken families

offer the riches mixture.

The finished latticeworks

come alive with space and light,

bear my signature.

Stephen Payne