So, it’s come to this, Morning
Ritual. No yellow eyed eggs staring at
Me with unconditional love, no skillet of
Siren singing bacon calling to my waking
Spirit, no butter smeared toast stretching
Out to tickle my slumbering desire.
Too many nos, too many vacancies, too
Many nothings. Too many substitutions
Playing unfitted parts. But play them they
Do, undaunted, unashamed, unabashed,
Unapologetic. The ritual, they know, is
Greater than the sum of its parts.
Black and strong and bold the coffee
Knows what I need. Life and healing
Flow from the kefir. Warmth and warmth
And warmth, the broth brings warmth.
My future toothless self, whatever is still
Me appreciates broth, kefir and coffee.
