small stone, day five
five minutes after waking up
breathing in steam
over amber Assam
mixed with Irish Breakfast
hands hot, holding cup
eyes closed
whole world in this tiny
kitchen
*
For a few minutes every morning, anyway, that's my world. And then cats meow, fish bang on tank to be fed, laundry stares and begs to be folded, dishes sit in the sink. Everything waits for me to do something. I can't remember a time when I didn't do something. I think it was when I was a teenager. I somehow recall entire days -- eight, nine hours at a time -- spent reading books. On the sofa. Oblivious to everything going on around. That might be a dream of adolescence, but it seems nice.
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