breakfast

tiny hairs on the tomato stems are white in the morning light. basil leaves broad and satin, tilted towards the southern window. hot water poured over Earl Grey leaves, curled like seeds in a silver cradle. silky cow’s milk drops in, the whole fragrant mug waiting patiently on a table as the Bergamot and tannins infuse into the gently steaming mixture. peanut butter spread on store-bought english muffins (the homemade ones are long gone), melting into the doughy crags. tendrils of coffee-scented air waft across seedling tops, red armchair, rainbow beams of light from the crystal hanging in the window, laundry draped across the old metal rack, stacks of poetry books, cobwebs between the ceiling and the walls. breakfast has commenced.