One day I heard her say:

“I have a dreamy kitchen.”

I pictured pots and pans hanging above

an old-fashioned stove, a light blue and white checkered

tablecloth on a wooden table for two.

And the morning frost beyond the kitchen door,

not reaching the warmth of her ears

from the night’s sleep.


I wondered:

What does she have for breakfast?

Does she make herself two sunny side-up eggs?

Is she too busy for eggs?

Perhaps she only eats yogurt before darting out the door.


You were always darting, not quite rushing,

but too fast for me to say hello.

Bitter tasting sip
Or a sweet and creamy glaze.
Black cup or cool whip?

Right now it is currently lunch time
Though how could it be lunch at 12:20 pm?
Well listen here brother
There are more than a thousand breakfasts
That could be missed
But you must never forget
The middle
Unless it is a brother

For Lunch is in between Breakfast and Dinner
Proving everyone wrong
Is what I would like to say
But alas there is a fault in this reasoning
For Lunch is only important
For the fact that you get to hang out
With the

B O I S

now you must accept this flawless foolish reasoning
and turn yourself into foolish wise men
since we are but the
Gaia's Children

Your voice was never mine in morning
You were a bird of later light
And you would smile
Each day
Each day
To say that you’re alright

You needed your coffee
To satiate your internal plight
As hungriness
Would sway
Would sway
Your mood ‘till your first bite

The crunch of butter covered toast
Your taste of the egg whites
You chose the yolks
To stay
To stay
Your breakfast at its height

You’d smile and say good morning
And there you were, my perfect wife
We’d go outside
Parkways
Beach days
Or an afternoon hike

It’s been a month and you’ve gone now
I dream of you at night
I think of you
Always
Always
As tears I consistently fight

I sleep inside our bedroom
I still whisper to you “Sleep tight”
You went in your sleep
No pain
No pain
After fighting with all your might

Your voice was never mine in morning
But you were my sun, so bright
And I find I miss
Your grace
Your face
Amidst the morning light

My daughter talks to
her blueberries like
they're her friends.
My soul smiles
and I never want
it to end.

Breakfast for two is true
communion.

Twin mugs full plates
the disshelved kitchen

My one yolk eyes me;
its sunny stare brightens
the awkward lack
of intimacy.

Sipping orange juice in lieu
of the morning after,
the passing closeness
a treasure all its own.