A Slotted Rest

The tumbler's rim grew chilly as evening took over the table. I climbed down to the slightly pulled wooden drawer beneath the tabletop. Inside lay a clean, slotted cardboard divider meant for holding spare tea sachets, empty now. With measured steps, I eased backward into one of the narrow rectangular cells. My cloth back met the stiff, unbent paperboard wall, snug and upright. From this recessed hollow, the lamp outside casts a calm, straight band across the floor. In my quiet slot, night is perfectly measured.