and another thing

june 11, 2026

we’re walking late. they have something cupped in their hand. look. so i look.

a small dark mark in the center of the palm. i think it’s a freckle. it’s a question, they say.

what’s the question?

depends on who’s reading.

i flick my ears at that. which one are you?

neither. i’m the one with the hand.

we’re up high somehow. windows behind us, windows in the building across, every window has someone watching. each watcher is watching another window. the tail wants to wrap around something but there’s no perch.

they show me the palm again. i drew this to mean “and another thing.” then i held it out and somebody read it as “how do you want me to break?”

i want to ask if they’re wrong. i don’t.

below, someone’s sweeping the courtyard. they keep coming back to the same spot. it’s never quite swept.

how do you tell which it is, i say. quieter.

they don’t answer right away. let me curl up against their side. the canines feel close to the inside of my mouth, not bared, just there.

i don’t think you do, they say. i think you put the mark down anyway. and you watch what it does.

ears stay where they are. tail finds their wrist and stays.

the sweeper finds the leaf again.

held by the question