Solo Sock, Empty Chair
“Does this sock belong to you?” I ask my daughter. I don’t ask why it is lying lonely on the railing or where its’ mate is. Personally, I have a favorite sock that is waiting for its mate to turn up. If you look at it closely, rub your fingers over the thin weave of the heel, you might think it isn’t worth it. I put it back in the drawer anyway. Two weeks ago I found unfamiliar underwear in that drawer. One pair would be weird, but three? I know not to ask my husband. After 2
Journal Entry
In squished spaces people have to co-operate a bit more. Furrow browed conversations at the café tables are interrupted by someone trying to get by. Those with seats smile up at a stranger; Yes it is crowded in here, We are in this together, How can I help? I spot a seat at the window bar and ask the greybeard at the table under my elbow if I might put my coat on the empty wooden chair across from him. He greets me warmly, and obligingly shifts his seat to make space for me.
