Morning Coffee

Spilt milk, stale crumbs and scattered cereal. 

Sticky sugar granules mingle,

With coffee grains on a cluttered counter top. 

Morning rush routine rounded off to start another day,

A day today as the day before is as the day beyond the day to come.

No other chore can breathe a breath till morning’s stations meet and set,

With precious parcels placed in place– with patted parting platitudes.

To waver not,

To waste not a moment with idle chat,

But to hasten home a harried head.

Then . . .

A moment with a silent pause, to hear the silence roar.

Oh joy! To glance the chaos; those chores await. 

They can wait and wait they will,

Until the whistle of the water hot, hits the bottom of the coffee pot.

Hands hug warm, as heat works, winding down the scattered skittish senses.

To level the plains with air unstirred.

A peace descends with gentle wings.

To breathe, to sigh,

At last, 

The day begins!