Breakfast for Four

Fall 2018

Breakfast bowls, blue edges chipped,

clink together as they are lifted from their shelf,

like gold coins in my storybook.

The grumbling coffee grinder starts its jet engine

and coats the kitchen counter

with rich coffee dust for Mom’s morning cup.

Our puppy pitter-patters across the cold linoleum

with baby-like balance.

We dance down the carpeted steps,

first Ernest, then Timothy, then me.

Bare feet, messy hair, flannel pajamas.

We’re too young

to notice or care how we look.

Ernest sings, Timothy laughs, I clap my hands.

Our mother, our teacher,

stands by the tall cabinets, reaching for Mini Wheats or

Cheerios or Cinnamon Toast Crunch or Quaker Oats?

Yet I don’t focus on the cereal

or the table set out for us

or the flowers in the vase

or our puppy jumping at our feet.

I see my mom wearing that fleecy sweater,

worn out with love, covered with tiny flowers.

Were they yellow and white or

blue and pink?

How could I know this morning was the last of its kind?

A glossy, Kodak, FLASH ON, red-eyed minute

I would someday hold in my hands?

#poetry #memory