Soup

I love Pho.

Especially when I am sick --- today I feel itchy and achy in every region above my neck.

Unfortunately I woke up and ate a bagel with lox so I'm not hungry enough for Pho yet, but I know as soon as I indulge it is going to make me feel a whole lot better (I am Jewish and Scandinavian. There is no way I can not love smoked salmon).

I've been dreaming very vividly for the past two months, and using it to write poetry. Here's the poem I wrote after waking up this morning:

I was on a train

the kind that circled around a tree

the passengers weren't all human

but a replica of Martin Luther King Jr was there.

So Oprah turned it into a game

and we didn't care because she was rich

and when we returned to school

with fat wallets and wet hair

the cupcakes weren't a surprise

in fact they were forgotten.

The search was to find money

and put it into the right order.

You couldn't leave the room with your stash

but out was where the bowl was

the bowl promised to be filled with the most cash.

But, leaving your money inside, while you were out

gave others the opportunity to snatch.

My dad knew where the bowl was

inside the maracas in the garage.

Peeling open the packaging I found just a toy mouse inside

and we laughed for having easily found it

watching all the paranoid players

taking the risk

to find something

that wasn't even there.