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Fine: a theme

Kate Schapira

It turned out fine, so it was fine from the first invocation. Fine lulled us into an acceptable cradle whether or not we strained the beds, burdened the kitchen. From the first morning we arrived, dazed from the day and a half before that night; wandered in the park watching old men and women exercise, the cedar trees that can only be wandered with a place to go back to, a place waiting.

They delivered us from the word go. Showed up and came loose from piles of attractions, long trains turned out the spares for our disposal. Bundled us into the Paladin and fed us, sang to us at fine's point. Mr. Kuo's oldest sister, James's mother, phone calls, fine with family, at the center of a family courtyard. Statues set dancing, from the first turned-out morning we were fine.

Cement statues of lions met our gateposts whether or not we made a nuisance. Questions and the next day our bags. From the very first. Dismay was fine. Unpacking gradual. Fine and amused, a difference in airs, shapes in pale colors mark a pale gray fine sky. Good enough is fine, grateful, comfort and therefore fine, a thread pulled out of fine, tucked under.

Do we dirty or clean: fine. Looking away from, turning to fine from familiarity, distinction no longer performing a service; sufficing in the entryway, in the room. Taken in between and not at all, as we are with an understanding, a fine arrival.

Kate Schapira

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