La Mesa (The Table)

I am the Table, the round board where the council meets. The scribe brings his charter; the merchant brings his ledger; the guide brings his map. We pass the documents hand to hand, each adding their mark, their seal, their comment. I remember every hand that held the parchment, every voice that spoke at the meeting. I am the parliament of creation.

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Two scribes once wrote on the same charter at the same hour. One added a city; the other removed it. The ink fought on the page — a black stroke, a crossed line, a margin note of anger. The Table held both versions. The master chose the city. The second scribe left the table and did not return for a season. The Table remembers both hands. It does not choose sides.