My coffee machine died this morning. I suppose nearly ten years – five years beyond warranty – is a pretty good deal. So here I sit with freeze dried coffee, wet hair and the wind hitting the windowpane.

A dried leaf falls from the cut roses on my desk, like a deliberate grab for attention. They really need to be put in the compost.

And I stare at this screen.

“Nice Cinderella, Good Cinderella,” is an ear-worm that I can’t shake this morning. Since we’ve been watching Into the Woods this week in class, it isn’t surprising, but it it still feels random. Shouldn’t ear-worms have some kind of significance? Some kind of hidden message? “Nevermind Cinderella, Kind Cinderella.”


The Raggedy-Ann doll
on the book shelf was a gift –
it replaced a lost doll
I mentioned to a friend
– a comforting keepsake

– a token of care
arrived in the mailbox: this
thing at the center
between her hands and mine
amidst a history of loss

“All of us have to learn how to invent our lives, make them up, imagine them.”

Ursula K. Le Guin