breakfast served as a juxtaposition
it’s nearly eight a.m.
and i rise to the chirping
of the birds and
the sun peaking in
through the window.
when my son rises, too,
i play music, softly,
brew a pot of coffee,
and together, we make
a quiche (he laughs
at the gooeyness of
the eggs, and while
he does the cheese,
i chop the bacon
and onions because
i can’t let him
get hurt). the morning
is beautiful.
it’s ten, and i wake
by myself. i turn a
lone light on and make
oatmeal. the house is
quiet and a loneliness
hangs in the air, but
there is something about
this morning (the storm
clouds in the distance?)
that is beautiful,
too.
Good title reflective of poem. I’m glad you can find beauty in each day! Enjoyed this.
I love the details of the breakfast and the come-what-may openness to the day.