The kettle boils.
A cup sits
beside the sink,
a little stained
around the rim.
Outside,
the birds have started.
I stand at the window
waiting for the water.
There are things
I no longer ask for.
Answers.
Apologies.
The return of what was lost.
Some mornings
I still want them.
Some mornings
the wanting is terrible.
Today
it is only a thought
that comes and goes
while I measure the coffee.
I know grief
will come again.
I know there will be days
when I cannot bear
the weight of ordinary things.
But not today.
Today the bread
needs toasting.
There is a book
I want to finish.
Someone I love
is still asleep.
The coffee is ready.
I take it to the table
and sit for a while.
Nothing has been settled.
The birds go on
with their singing.
I drink my coffee.
Anyway.
