Disarming

Disarming

The cactus looks especially prickly
which makes me want to touch it
more. The terra cotta pot looks just
like the terra cotta crayon I remember,
or maybe burnt sienna. When I see
the tiny spider lowering onto the table,
I hold a cup out, and the spider drops in,
cooperates. There cannot possibly
be more clean forks, I think, but when
I open the drawer, there are four, the
tray is full of clean utensils. The drawer
opens and closes, I am playing the
violin in my kitchen. I don’t check
the bus times, and I don’t rush,
and I see it a few blocks away when
I reach the stop. A twelve-year-old
boy glows when the teenaged girl
sits next to him on the bus, he reaches
to help her with her stroller, stares
adoringly into the sleeping baby’s face.
Aww, what’s her name? She’s just
so cute! The girl’s irritation melts
from her features, a wave flattening
into glittering ocean. Fantasy, she says.