The Revenant

in a room with so many lawyers, my nametag says laura.

drinks in hand, we mill about gilt and mirrors, godfather homage to chest-thumping as fits the occasion.

my thoughts drift across the sound. this is the part of the book i would skip if i could, but i am just a guest, and convention glues me to my chair.

now it’s an aquarium; your fellow fish and me, a small rodent who can’t swim but looks gratifyingly eager to learn, itself a valuable life skill.

you touch my knee, but really, don’t feel bad. the fade requires no effort, not like when i was young, playing at enigma.

i know how to blend, then reappear. to walk with you through the parking lot, porcupine. chill in the night air, all those distant stars.