Kirby Knowlton Scheherazade This intermission is women's work. I tell him of when I swallowed a locket holding my own picture. Good fish, he says, you caught yourself. Neither mirror nor window— still he sees himself in me. I know that it is easier to play along by how we credit the wind for the chime's song. Tonight what will save me will be to tell no story at all. My voice a speck of dirt that stays quiet so long it becomes a pearl.