Home/Words

She’s a little strange. She doesn’t belong here. It’s almost comical, this gypsy-like-creature.

She has teacups tied to her apronstrings and too-many scarves.

Oh god, she’s going to make us do something. Crowd around her in a circle. Some of us take hold of the teacups. She wants us to hold them a certain way. She knocked my hand with her hairbrush! Now we have to make a wish. We’re wishing on the cups, I think.

Then turning them upside down. She taps them with her brush. (Why is she carrying a hairbrush? It’s one of those cheap travel-size kind from Walgreen’s.) We lift the cups, and there are strips of paper in our hands. She shows us we can let the cups fall, and we do, and we’re still standing close.

We each read our papers. Little images of comfort, cozy rooms, baking bread, loved ones near. Homey images. We repeat some phrases, some words. Over and over. She seems a little enraptured, like we’re an orchestra that she’s conducting.