Never-to-be noticed me sits at the end of the bar. It’s cold and the wind swirls around my Auburn curls. I tend to stare into the abyss and enrapture myself in lonely thoughts.

It looks like this: Purple swirls like snow before green and blue mountains. Cows fly into the viewers eyes but fail to hit anything. They disappear like bubbles or change to feathers. Howling wind is suddenly an empty tunnel tearing me apart and drawing me in. I am a character in Alice in Wonderland. I grow to impossible heights and stand on the mountains. I rise above the purple swirls and breathe fresh air before returning to a normal size. I run but I don’t go anywhere. I face-plant and look up for a hand. I reach into a hold with a hand. It is clay and breaks apart. I stand up and stare.

Then I refocus. Still here. In a bar. On a ski slope. Alone.

Merry Christmas

It feels strange to say “Good morning” to an empty doorway, but I know someone is there.

Semi-early riser, 7 am deliveries show up at my door. I don’t remember why I opened my door the first time. I think I heard a clink or a smack—I don’t quite remember which. But I opened the door with a tentative inquiry, “Hello..?” The sunshine drifted through and pointed to a ring-sized box on my doormat. I lifted the tan, velvet box and filled my heart with expectation. The box did not open. I don’t need mystery in my life. The box lands in the trash, and I continue with my day.

Each day, the same morning clinking occurs. Each day, a new box that I am unable to open. I wait at the door and stare at 6:59 - no box. After I blink, the box is there and bigger than before. I have slammed the door on the box, thrown the box down the steps, stomped on the box. None of the boxes go away. I now have a pile of boxes accumulating in my living room and no idea how to throw them out. With confusion mounting, I decide to create art pieces from the boxes and make the best of the situation, making lemonade out of my lemons.

The auditorium empties And I shed my cloak To sing “Somewhere over the rainbow Way up high There’s a land that I heard of Once in a lullaby” My white beard covers a swollen Belly from all the milk I’ve Been drinking “Somewhere over the rainbow Skies are blue And the dreams that you dare to dream Really do come true” Eyes sinking low and thinking, How can I give birth to A baby? “Someday I’ll wish upon a star And wake up where the clouds are far Behind me” I was told when I was ten That I could be whatever I want “Where troubles melt like lemon drops Away above the chimney tops That’s where you’ll find me.” Try to be a mommy in a world Like this. Cloudy, broken And mean “Somewhere over the rainbow Bluebirds fly Birds fly over the rainbow Why then, oh why can’t I?” Crazy, outrageous, scream. No one can see me For me “If happy little bluebirds fly Beyond the rainbow Why, oh why can’t I?” “Grandfathers can’t be mommies,” Somebody broke My dream.

A young wife with short red hair stood on the balcony across from mine. I knew she was young because of the resilience in her smile. The New York smog washes that away after time.

A gray morning but not too cold, I bathed myself in morning glow - hot coffee in hand. A professional camera could have claimed the right angle, had I the face for glamor. Alas, I push brown glasses on the bridge of my not-quite-symmetrical nose to glance at a dog taking a shit in the middle of my sidewalk. Such a lovely Labrador. Such a lovely hand holding the leash. But a momentary lapse in reality, and she’s gone. “Thank you. For nothing,” I yell. That’s the third time this week.

The moment is a lovely thing. I turn back to my red-headed neighbor. She turns to close the door. End moment here.

Weightless, visible rays wash over golden hair. I can only see the trees and the window before me in a gentle gaze. Each bright line traces a memory in my mind as if the sun has intertwined with my mind. A bird steps lightly on the sunshine I now claim. I break, “Don’t drop heavy ideas onto golden locks.” Let nothing shake me free. Envelop me in sunshine - you are lovely.