Even in dreams, scripts can’t always be winners.
It feels like someone hasn’t taken the time
To write our lives well –
We wait in the shop we’ve called our home
For the past few days, hearing rumors
That we’ll leave, that we’ll stay, until
The shopkeep tells me
I’ll be staying with him, alone,
Long enough to get to know each other.
I think to myself, this must be because
We haven’t gotten enough
Backstory from him.
But I like his character, so I don’t
Mind keeping here,
Watching him sort tiger’s eye stones
Into a bowl for customers to browse.