We shall now go out to collect our stories
From a night filled with hollow dog barks
Against wind chimes from standing trees.
A table fan comes our way in the carousel
On top of the dark stories of our making.
Stories are from inside as we confer value
On vacant things, a few holes in memory.
Like this woman who had kicked a table fan
In diffused russet hues of a tiny beauty-dot
As if it is a bucket women routinely kicked,
In stories of kickety table fans and women.
We do not blame the table fan for officiating
The role of a bucket an old woman kicked.
The table fan has views on sundry subjects.
It cannot be blamed for other people's views.
Our own table fan shakes off its wind as if
It makes all the wind trees are shivering with.