Yesterday I wrote about
a boy whose spilled salsa on a white tee-shirt
saved him from imprisonment
after a terrorist attack
in a small town
during a military parade.
Before that, I wrote about the detective couple,
one a psychic, the other a movement analyst
who rescued their aging mentor
from a half-buried tool shed
deep in a cornfield
after he had been kidnapped
by an unstable former student turned secretary.
Before that, I wrote about
a lonely maid in a big mansion
whose broken vacuum cleaner
led her to a little shop
where magic and repairs are an everyday occurrence.
And perhaps tomorrow
I will write about a middle-aged woman
who sits on a golden sofa, bathed in sunlight,
writing with black ink on a yellow legal pad
ripping off each page as she finishes,
pages accumulating all around
until she can no longer find her tea
and is afraid of moving.
But today, today sits patiently
like a barnacle on a rock at low tide.
Abundance is mere hours away.