Muses

Muses were waiting for me when I got home. Small ones on the windowledge in the kitchen. Everywhere things were open. Jars unscrewed, boxes un-lidded, even the windows were open and I worried a gust of wind would unbalance them and they would tumble backward into the petunias growing against the wall. They giggled while I tried to close everything, each time a box sprang open or the jars would not screw on properly. I felt their giggles in my ear as I reached past them to pull the shutters closed, but the flew wide once more.
Eventually I gave up and left the kitchen. The door was the first thing closed since I'd come home. When I turned they pointed to the small padlock on the old wooden box my mother had left me, the one I'd refused to open because even in death I could not forgive her.
I am stubborn, soon the need to get work done and to go to the washroom overcame a grudge I'd worked to maintain for years.
Well, the muses were entertained. When I located the lock to the old padlock, and lifted the lid carefully (the latch was quite ancient) they must have been surprised. I'm not sure though, their stitched on smiles never seem to change.

Text by Lucie MacAulay