• Breakfast

    You wake up one day
    and she is singing your name over
    scrambled eggs,
    biscuits,
    jelly,
    butter,
    grits,
    brewing coffee,
    and bacon
    and cantaloupe.
    And you know she loves you
    and the world seems so still
    and all seems so clear.
    You think about how life is
    and how blessed you are to have her
    and there is love
    there in the kitchen…
    singing your name over scrambled eggs…
    Everything seems perfect.

    And in the midst
    of your bliss
    and planning for all the days ahead,
    the coffee
    starts to overflow
    and burn the maker
    and smells of burnt Brazil
    and the bacon
    sizzle
    and pop too long
    and has lost all its taste
    and color to charcoal
    and its not fresh cantaloupe…
    store bought sliced…
    not even the right season.
    You don’t even like your eggs scrambled.

    Something in your gut says go back to bed.
    Something in your gut says take a shower
    and get breakfast elsewhere.
    Something in your gut says just go.
    But you don’t.

    Because standing there
    looking at the
    burnt bacon,
    the strong coffee,
    the chopped loupe,
    the scrambled eggs…
    standing there…
    You…
    loving her still…
    loving her more…
    because she tried.
    And she tried
    with love.

    Cook her breakfast tomorrow.



    From my book, "Hot Sauce & Honey"

    - Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
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