ordinary occurrences

On the laundry room floor

a very large bag of

acorns

sits.

Collected.

Stored and being saved for currency at their friend’s house.

In the living room there is

a bright cheery yellow canvas bag loaded with

rocks.

And.

A tap on the shoulder.

A seven-year-old confession.

“Momma.

Otto’s bug catcher is empty now.

But it wasn’t earlier.

So.

If you see some crawly lizard upstairs.

Well.

That’s why.

I thought you should know.”