a mother's g i f tA stool scraped across the floor. The girl was pulling it to the sink. She stood at it's peak and retrieved a glass. The milk was already sitting on the table. No chocolate, she was too old for that. A big girl, her mother would say. After setting the glass on the table, she replaced the stool. The kitchen television was blaring when she again took the glass in her hand. She tapped it lightly, holding it bottom up to rid the cup of excess water.The news was on."Today ends the trial of the century," said some boring male monotone.I wonder when Mother will return."A great mind has been sentenced after the accusation of illegal testing on a human subject."She should be home by now. It's been days since she went on her vacation."Her experiments have been proven to leave the subject in a suspended stage of youth."Maybe a month since she left... Or perhaps three?"Though the body of the subject remains frozen in time, the mind grows and expands as anyone else's mi
ScribblingInMySketchBookScribble in my sketchbookAssignmentDoodleIt's all the sameSomeone's perched on my shoulderAnd I keep workingKnowing who it isKnowing you're watchingKnowingNot mindingNot being botheredNot having wordsFor you.I know you by scent.Everyone has one.You don't smell pinkOf bluntFemininity.You don't smell blueOf piousSisterly smiles.You don't smell redOf creativeInnocence.Your scentIs greenLike the oceanIt reminds meOf the salty sea airI can all but tasteWhen I kiss youI can already seeYou blush.I know my kissEmbraceWordsCan embarrass.SometimesThings should beSaidDoneExpressedWithout noticeOf who might be lookingWatching,Staring,WhisperingBehind our backs,To our faces.So kiss meWith your refreshing sea scentAs I sitScribbling away in my sketchbook.