Repositioning

by Madam Wren

Chapter 1

Good evening, wanderer, come look at the screen,
To part the dark curtain and see the unseen.
You think that this reading is meant for the crowd,
But the frequency narrows, the static is loud.
The twist in the cable, the hum in the stone—
The distortion is yours, and you watch it alone.

I see a long highway you swore had an end,
A path through the pines that you cannot defend.
You think it is finished, you think it is past,
But it’s learned how to wait for the shadow you cast.
Don’t look at the cards on my table just yet,
They’ve already been looking at you, do not fret.

A photograph folded is tucked in your coat;
A ghost of a memory starting to float.
You think it is damaged and ruined by grime,
But some things only reposition with time.
Pay attention to hours between asleep and awake,
For that is the moment instructions will take.

If advice comes your way that sounds gentle and mild,
Please pause at the threshold, be cautious, my child.
For gentleness masks what is patient and grim—
A shadow just waiting to spill o'er the brim.
And if the phone rings and there’s no voice to speak,
Just listen to silence; don’t whisper or shriek.

You want to know which of your choices will cost?
It isn’t the large one where columns are crossed.
It’s tiny and quiet, a slip of the hand.
When the broadcast is finished, don't rush to go stand.
Remain in your seat till the walls reappear,
And the room feels ordinary, familiar, and dear.

But if it does not, if the strangeness remains,
That data is sufficient to freeze up your veins.
The dial has been locked and your future is grown:
You will continue listening. Watching alone.