<- Back to main page


by Jim Butcher


she handed it to me—the child, the chalk

and i told her it was not the wailing wall but she said

if i drew a stick figure that would be the same as offering a prayer


and the smell of sea water permeated the brick

and the brick itself was stained from cocks pissing

or someone had lived there at one time


she said she was orphaned (when the ship left port)

it had three masts and was painted black and red