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Reveal: a theme

Kate Schapira

What would you say to a messenger who changed the message? What would you say –what words– to a messenger who left the door wide open? What words do you think I've changed? Dependence made me a poor memory in a well-set-up kingdom. In the map, reveal where it's vulnerable, but not to travelers. I sat down to sharpen a wit by the time.

It stopped raining. Words came up against the message. What pocket contained it folded? Became damp? I wore pants washed–I found them, folded on the bed I'm let use without comment. What could I say to that? How could I let it loose? Confabulation is in the use of evidence to draw up snugly. There on the stoop, the lap, the child wet or dry, I had to make a guess. And I was the one the guess was about.

Beam after beam drew me to conclusions. How could I have found out and about, I excused myself, they thundered past an instant, drawing the eye too close. Sleeping every time in the Paladin, dozing and waking in starts, a missing passenger to see and hear, to survive the treatment that turns elements into a family. By eye.

Kate Schapira

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