she would come back blinking her eyes a few times very fast
and her hands would move surely not that they stopped
but like they could see the plates again or the sheets to fold
i always wondered where she went when she came back and answered
nothing

there are some places where mice are forcefed to a box with three doors
this humble box passes the smart ones
and regurgitates the stupid ones until they are smart
enough to remember that one door leads nowhere
one door leads to pain
one door leads to a corridor large enough
for a mouse to walk a straight line
it goes on
and again
there are enough corridors for all the smart ones
and enough lessons for the stupid ones until they die

a brush with stiff metal bristles scraped on a stone
peels the flow of water down its sides
into slow dancing rhythmless rivulets

this is not an alchemy