untitled.

She looked at the back of her hand
As though it could give her something--anything
To help her remember why she was here.

It was dead center eleventh hour
A genuine Indian gamble on a B.C. Bush-hating friend
Miles away, and less than a phone call
Brought her snap turtle grasp back up North.

Hand her the truth with
Gossamer attempts at tug-of-war,
Over a glass of water to contemplate
What we really think of everything, life and the universe.

End with a promise of a spring break concoction,
New Orleans detour when Virginia calls your heart home
Lola won't admit to wanting everything she gets,
But Rory can't help but reading the penned message on her hand.

Everything is what we do, when life throws us the universe.