Broken Fast

Warm marmalade, draped over crisp cuts of crusts;

Tea sits in the mug, patient and wholesome.

Tall, cool orange in the glass stands entirely still,

And the newspaper remains pristine, inviolate.

Low grey light sifts through the glaze of the kitchen window.

The teaspoon rests. The sugar in its bowl

Would chime clearly, when graced with a glance from the butter knife:

But you resist temptation, and all is quiet, untouched.

It occurs to you, as the kettle comes full circle

In its ritual, toward a state of heated calm

And simmers soft to a state of drowsiness:

That morning does not break, but is broken in.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s