A Book of the Future: A Maze by Stacey Levine

A journey is always long.

The property’s edge: demarcated by a grassy ridge. Thrown, planted upon the ridge by an invisible mother, I stood exposed to the sun’s apogee. Below me, vines were rife and fraught with thorns and worn fruit.
I moved well, pacing. This was my sole advantage.

With a thump, I fell three feet downward onto a dock:
a small birth. Mustard-yellow bruises layered my arms. The phone lay on the ground, open, ready to give and receive. I called into the future, a soliloquy of impulses.

From the future came a transmission. I talked to the future, learned its contours. Books, gel pens, children. The widening internet: a river, a road. Small happinesses: a glow. The future’s a trail, an unpolished tale. Do not turn back. You must be held. I threw the phone down. Stepped along the highway outside Suquamish. The signs told that a good story would unwind.


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