THE CITY OF BURDEN
AND OF THE BURDENED
WEAVE BROOMS.
You decide to do as your keeper asked
And help assemble brooms
You’ve never done it before
But how hard can it be?
Your clumsy fingers struggle to roll the corn straw
Your knots are loose
Your bundles unkempt
But you persist
Frustrated
And after a time
You have a serviceable broom
And eventually
A small pile of serviceable brooms
Suddenly footsteps
Keys
A rusty creak as the slat in your door slides open
The protective mask of your Keeper appears in the frame
She speaks with calculated distinction
So as to be understood through the mask’s elaborate contours
“Provisions”
And with her gloved hand she lowers a box into your chamber
“I wove the brooms.”
You indicate to your meager works
Your Keeper nods stoically
And receives them
One by one
Drawing them through the slat
Until you see her mask return to the frame
“Thank you.”
Her voice betrays fatigue
There will never be a better time
To ask your Keeper the question
Burning inside you