Thirteen The pins don't know they're metaphors. They stand because they were set there and fall because a heavy thing arrived. You wore your new shoes. You picked the blue ball, the heaviest you could carry, because you are done with what you can carry. I watched from the scoring table where the math was easy— spares and strikes, the way absence counts more than presence. Outside, September did what September does: held the light one second longer than anyone asked.