The Empty Line

They asked what a woman near fifty
Is going to a battlefield for
I said I am going to write

At sixteen I found paper under the floorboards
At thirty I taught children their letters
Past forty I became this village's teacher
And this winter
A man from the sea left a soaked ledger behind
He said they were the names of those who bought false testimony

I read it
I read it for three days
And then I understood
These names are already too late

I will not give these names to the world
The world is calling other names now
Instead, from today
I will write new names
The name of a man who is dying
On the day he dies
Before anyone can correct it

The road north was full of people
Men carrying iron, men carrying bows
Men walking with nothing at all
I walked carrying only paper and ink
People laughed. What will you do with that.
I will write, I said
Write what, they asked
I will write your name, I said
That man stopped laughing

In ten years someone will ask
Who was there that day
And if nobody knows
It becomes a thing that never happened

I will not give these names to the world
The world is calling other names now
Instead, from today
I will write new names
The name of a man who is dying
On the day he dies
Before anyone can correct it

I thought about what to put on the first page
And in the end I just wrote the date
Beneath it I left one line empty
The empty line
Is the place for someone still alive

Write the names
Write them while they are alive
Write them after death
And anyone can change them and no one will know
Fire burns
Salt preserves
Iron remembers
And a person writes

Snow is falling
So the ink does not freeze
I carry it inside my coat and walk