Musing, Dwellings

As she left the house, where parents eat separate dinners, watch separate shows, sleep in separate beds, dreaming separate dreams, she noticed that even the cars were turned away from each other, distant like strangers. And she realized that she had the choice to create her own place, a place filled with so much warmth and joy and love and laughter, that people would want to be a part of it and they would call it a "home."

Act IV, Scene 5

There's rosemary, that's for rememberence.
How did you do it last time?
Fog and a magic trick,
abracadabra...
Pray you, love, remember.
smile at work,
but it's raining into the dishwater.
And there is pansies...
Work a long shift,
gym twice a day,
once for yoga, once for spin.
Sit in your car,
surrounded by hair.
That's for thought.
How did that happen?
What was next?
Rue, or was it Columbines?
I would give you some violets, but they withered all... 
Come home late.
Drift amongst the Sunday flowers, rooted like a lily pad.
Exit, Ophelia.
And will he not come again?
And will he not come again?

Pickle Memories

The smell of oatmeal cookies, toffee, and buttered popcorn filled my car through the thoughtless vents as I drove by the old Miller factory last night. Let's play a game like Wheel of Fortune. Bitter Sweet Wort.

Deal or "No Deal!"

sometimes screaming "no deal" lands you with a bucket of tickets, half empty
and no one to tuck you in at night