Floating along the edge of a party, hearing
the stories you are a part of. All of it resists you.
Or you resist it. It's not clear anymore. A light
in the backyard seeps down; it's a streetlamp
behind a tree. The shadow inside the branches
looks like a hanging man. Now, this is a story
you could tell, but you don't. Something
you are afraid of, that stalks you
every minute of your life. So
return to the party and be among friends.
Tell a story, your back to the window.
House of Anansi Press