Empty
The Shape of Emptiness
It’s still night when Shazira wakes, to a soft, sad sound coming from the deck outside our bedroom.
She wraps herself in a warm maroon cloak, covered with yellow flowers.
Moving silently, she slips on sandals, and goes out on the deck of the Watchtower.
The morning is still cool, especially at this height.
One of the Kishla is sitting on the deck, singing a song that tears the heart.
Shazira has never seen one this age, only a month or two old.
The young ones are never seen among us.
I wake a … Read more