Saturday Morning

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Saturday Morning

        November 23, 2019

Blankets, books, and rain, 
coconut coffee creamer frothing white
on top my white clay mug, and steam. 

The way a morning invites
a silence deep as that from which 
I have again emerged,
slowly, painfully, and not by choice. 
It balances on a pin-prick, wavers.   

I will not dare to breath until 
the coffee cools and she gets up 
to squeak the shower faucet—I will 
not be the catalyst of chaos, disrupt 

the glassy surface of the day,
wrinkle the wholeness of beginnings.



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