Ever SINCE they had come out on the WRONG side of each other, they had been a bit cautious in tackling house projects. The tension had been over what color to paint the den. Silly thing, really, to hold onto, but that’s the way it goes sometimes. She had just slapped some paint on the wall, having laid down the law about who was making decisions this time around. No compromising their way to a pale neutral color: this time, it would be what she wanted. But the supposedly gray color was really too BROWN. “Who makes up these paint names anyway,” she muttered with a FROWN. He passed by the room at that very moment. Sensing that he should stay out of it, but unable to do so completely, he settled for saying casually, “kinda dark, isn’t it?” No reply from her, and he wisely stepped away. Later, he experienced a private relief when she chose a medium green, something just a tad darker than the lichen that grew on the side of a tree in the yard. He’d have to drop that comparison into their dinner conversation. It would make a very good impression.

Georg’ann

Each time she opened her closet
she was greeted with music,
NOISE made from twinkling metals
softly clanging against
the door, and themselves.
Lines of necklaces used
to ADORN her collarbone.
Yesterday with barely a touch
a new melody played
as beads plopped onto hardwood.
No tears, only a slight FROWN.
These were pieces easy
to pick up, to string again.

Heather