She

Who is she?
Is she meeting someone?
She sips her coffee quietly
As if she wants to run.

Where is she from?
No one knows the answer.
Everyday she comes.
No one speaks to her.

Why is she here?
Maybe to meet some friends.
But what has she to fear?
Her temperament slowly descends.

When will she leave?
Perhaps when she finds her purpose.
She needs to be free.
Quietly she exits.

The Corridor

I met you in the corridor.

Passing without spoken word.

Averting eyes to avoid war.

Your steps were those of a bird.

A smile falls on my face.

Pain twinges my heart.

Where is my place?

From you I feel so far.

Could things have changed?

Do you want to try again?

I still have that picture frame.

I still hold you within.

Please come back to me.

What is the rush for?

I need us to be.

I met you in the corridor.

Courage For A Cookie

Billows of steam dance off of the tops of warm oatmeal raisin cookies that recently arrived from their cocoon that guided them through the metamorphosis from the basic baking elements to the melody that a tall glass of milk harmonizes with.  The smell sweeps through the house delighting every nose in its path.  These cookies are not normal cookies by any means.  The mother of some very busy children put herself to work in the kitchen in order to craft her dessert to welcome them home from their journeys.  After she finishes with her labor of love, she realizes that there is no more milk, so she dashes from the house and off to the supermarket before the children come home to find their surprise.

In a small crevice of the kitchen wall behind the china cabinet, a small, gray mouse stirs.  Enticed by the aroma, he pokes his head out of his home and around the corner of the woodwork of the cabinet to see the treasures perched on top of the White Mountain high above where he gazed.  He quietly considered the risks of going after his new desire.  Ultimately, the temptation overtook his will and he started forward toward his goal.

He sauntered across the cold hardwood floor, unsure that he was completely alone.  He peers around each corner and holds his breath, breathing only when it was absolutely necessary.  After crossing the gleaming amber surface with exacted precision, the tiny mouse slowly raises his head to look at what is ahead.  Shiny knobs covering even more wood protruded from the side of the mountain he was going to have to inevitably climb.  Looking around for something to give himself a boost up to his endeavor, he found that the trash can help him with his predicament.  He takes a deep breath and runs and leaps onto the pedal of the trash can which flings him up high enough to grip a nearby knob.  After letting out a particularly curt sigh, he starts swinging himself from knob to knob until he grasps the corner of the Kitchen Kilimanjaro.  The miniscule mouse struggles his way to a prostrate position and puffs out his chest triumphantly.  He performs his obligatory victory dance and feels quite proud of himself.  He struts over to the oatmeal raisin cookies that have been patiently waiting on him and proceeds to devour the most appetizing looking morsel of the bunch.

The experience is beautiful, just as he expected.  The raisins are plump and tender while the surrounding sea of crisp cookie offers a complimenting crunch.  The little mouse is so overwhelmed with joy, he lounges back in ecstasy.  The door slams.  The mouse’s eyes pop open.  His crumbs drop.  Drop.  His heart and stomach follow suit.  “How do I get down?” contemplates the mouse.

You Are Never Alone

A creamy, sky blue balloon is swirling up into the atmosphere. The balloon glides up into the ocean of sky carelessly letting itself be carried by the gentle gust of wind. Sunshine gleams off of the satin finish of the cerulean globe. As it gently rises higher from the ground a little boy is left deep in thought.
The little boy had wandered off from recess looking at the nature surrounding him. He was hypnotized by all of the evergreens and glassy puddles and the living creatures inhabiting them. Then he suddenly came across a magnificent find. Someone had tied a beautiful balloon to a big, gray, boulder and it seemed to be waiting there for him. The appearance of it was slightly faded as if it had spent quite a while there. The boy was surprised that no one else had bothered to remove the orb from its quiet surroundings. Excitedly, he inspected every facet of his new treasure. He felt the smooth surface and dusted off the film of dirt that took away the sheen. After he polished the balloon he caught a light scent of latex and stood back to see that the once somewhat shabby looking balloon looked like it was brand new from the county fair. He decided that the balloon needed some new ribbon to show off its newfound beauty. The boy gazed out toward the horizon and saw that it was growing dark. He went home planning to return to his work. The balloon dreamt of the wonders that tomorrow would bring.
The little boy managed to slink away out of the teacher’s sight again the next day with the ribbon in his pocket. He was pleased to see the balloon silently awaiting him. Upon sighting the boy, the balloon seemed to jump with excitement. The dirty, worn out ribbon was replaced with a shining, crisp white ribbon. The balloon beamed with appreciation for the blessed restoration. The boy took in his new creation and it brought a warm smile to his face and he almost went to retrieve his friends to behold the wonderful balloon, but he decided that they would not understand and that he would keep the globe a secret. He continued to study the balloon and wondered who left it, why, and if they were in a hurry or if they were simply careless. Or, if they valued it so much that they wanted to pass it on to somebody else and let them have the opportunity to have the feeling that they felt when it was their own.
The blue balloon felt an exquisite love for it’s new acquaintance. A love that only the lucky know. The balloon did absolutely nothing to receive this treatment. All the hate and sadness in the world seemed to vanish when the boy was around. The orb never wanted to be left alone again. However, it knew that it should not be selfish. No matter how deep the wound separation would inevitably leave.
As the boy held the balloon, he noticed a slight sagging in the balloon’s tautness. Almost as if it wanted to get out and explore the sights it had never seen before. He hesitated to think about it. That evil word. Goodbye. So short, yet so devastating. Some interpret the meaning as being temporary, others permanent. The optimistic, pessimistic divide. When he looked back at the balloon, he knew what he had to do. He waited for a few seconds and whispered some things to the balloon, secrets or insights that he and the balloon would hold between them forever. He paused, then untied the blue balloon from the rock and twisted the string in his fingers and paused again. Then he released it. The balloon seemed to drag a little at first reconsidering if it should stay behind with its new friend or journey on. Yet, like the little boy, it chose the same decision and gathered speed, ascending into the arms of the welcoming clusters of clouds. The little boy watched the blue balloon fly away until he could no longer see any trace. The balloon would never forget the warm, innocent love that was bestowed upon it for a short time.

Merry Christmas!

I hope all of you have found a nice warm fire to be around and family and/or friends to share stories with. No one should be alone on Christmas. Regardless of their level Scrooge. I have to say that I am considerably disappointed with the amount of reverence that America has for this time of year. More establishments are opening up on Christmas forcing employees to work and be away from loved ones. Ridiculous. Would closing for one day really affect profits that detrimentally? Outside my window there is a nondescript, gray sky from which rain is slowly drizzling. On a day like this, especially, people need to know that there are others out there who love them despite the common idea we all sometimes acquire that we have nowhere to run to. Having friends around me is more important than presents. Gifts are fun, but it is the unique and funny experiences that we remember. I won't keep y'all away from your caroling and meals too much longer. I will leave you with a quote from one of my favorite movies and probably my favorite Christmas movie, elf.
-"We elves try to stick to the four main food groups: candy, candy canes, candy corns, and syrup." -Buddy the elf

Man's Best Friend

           What's that noise?  Oh, it's just Stewart's black lab, Sammy, who is supposed to be a secret that is not so secretive at all.  The landlord is never the wiser because he sleeps until early afternoon everyday to ease the hangover from the night before.  If he ever asks about the noise, everyone acts like they have no idea what he is talking about.  Stewart is one of the nicest human beings I know.  He is actually human which has become a plus instead of a basic nowadays.  Every evening, I pack up all of my scraps from dinner and slip the little doggie bag into the small door for Sammy that is cut out of the Stewart-sized door opening up into the apartment.  When I see him around, he returns a friendly grin and sometimes licks me which lets me know that I can make someone happy, even a male.  It doesn't matter that he can't talk or that he will eat anything.  On a bad day when I feel like I do no good in the world whatsoever, I can rely on the fact that he regards me as a friend who always brightens his day.
           When I open my eyes I realize that my face is stuck to my still blank canvas.  I rub my face and look up at the clock and notice that it is almost eleven o' clock.  I jump up and trip into my room, look for something to wear that doesn't look like pajamas, run my fingers through my hair, and grab my handbag.  "Thank goodness I don't live far from my work," I thought.  I'm still super late, but maybe she'll understand because it is after all a Monday.
            I run down the flights of stairs in my building and down the street to the bakery where I work.  Passers-by look upon me with looks of confusion and drivers with looks of grief at my darting across the street.  Out of breath I apologize over and over to my coworkers and snatch my apron off of the wall.
              "You are in desperate need of an alarm clock you know." My best friend Julie says.
Julie is a fun, reckless type of girl who balances out my usually calm and rational behavior.  This morning her curly, strawberry blonde hair was up in a loose ponytail and she was popping her chewing gum while writing an order down.
              "I know.  I was up trying to make myself work on another piece.  I had the idea right up here, but I just couldn't get it out.  I'm loosing my creative juices.  They are draining away from me and I can't stop them."  I said.
              "Whoa, whoa, whoa.  Don't get all depressed on me.  It's already a Monday.  Maybe you just need to go out and have some fun.  Get some inspiration.  Maybe go on a date, God forbid."  She rants as she winks at me.
           I give her a smirk letting her know that I am too tired to talk anymore about the issues I know that are true, but don't want to admit.

Hot Chocolate and Hazy Thoughts

          Where is the milk?  Like everything else it probably just escaped my mind.  Lost thoughts must saunter away to some invisible landfill somewhere to wait for their parents to come retrieve them, akin to a lost-and-found or an orphanage kind of idea.  I cannot remember anything anymore.  The notion of attaching a name tag to the front of my shirt has crossed my mind, I must admit.  Some of the simplest thing like dairy products or one's own name can evade a person, almost cunningly.
          After searching through the messy fridge, which is messy because of course cleaning is always continually swept underneath other issues and forgotten, I find the sneaky milk hiding behind a mound of to-go containers.  I do not by any means pretend that I am a Martha Stewart type who, I don't know, might have the slightest understanding of her culinary way around the kitchen.  Then, after I make sure the milk stays on the counter and doesn't run away, I dig around in my cabinets for a pot to warm the milk and melt the chocolate to make a hot and creamy beverage to thaw the winter chill off of my body.
          The chocolate bars sit ready on the stove because I must have them at my fingertips in case I get a severe craving for them.  As I snapped them into the steamy milk, a wonderful scent that I expect to fill heaven wafted to up to my face and comforted me like a good friend.  I danced over to the cupboard and retrieved my favorite mug and filled it with the frothy liquid.  After, turning off the burner, putting my ingredients away, and turning off the light in the kitchen I go back to my blank canvas that was taunting me and practically forced me to procrastinate and abandon.  That is the last thing I remember.