• Carla

Dream Job

Updated: May 13, 2021


The waiter asks if I want more coffee and I cross my fingers that brilliance can be brewed from beans.

I imagine full-bodied thoughts swimming in the depths of his carafe.

As my mug cools, inspiration hitches a ride with the steam.


The vine was green just yesterday!

I’m not sure which one sold it to the rest of the bunch,

but that must have been one hell of a commission.

The Magic Word

Dawn rolls in on summer air.

Rosé steam dances above fresh concrete;

cicadas lead us in purple-honeyed worship.

We answer the call to explore as sweet sweat hovers,

shed our chains,

and simply say,



Twice a day it’s my birthday.

Wishes perch on the cliffs of my insides, glass cats on a doily pulled too far.

I close my eyes as hard as I can and blow.

Dream Job

When I close my eyes, there’s an overstuffed trunk in the corner. Its contents stick out at odd angles like my hair in the morning. I catch corners of tattered thoughts and lose time turning pages.

When I close my eyes, tall grasses reach overhead. My beagle sniffs beside me in a yellow raincoat like a curious banana. I wade in deeper, following the direction of reeds in the wind.

When I close my eyes, music spills out from the door of a Parisian cafe. Chairs draw across the floor like the bows of concert violinists. I sit and listen to them tuning up for the Saturday matinee.

When I close my eyes, letters hold hands to make words. They call for me to join their game of Red Rover like I am one of them. I run slowly enough to get caught in their arms.

Thank you for joining me. I am so glad you’re here!


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