Breakfast

“Let’s get breakfast”

he doesn’t say to me as he rolls over

on to my side of the bed. My blue blanket

now coated with the whiskey breath

of a stranger.

I lie awake,

timid after a long night of searching for purpose

through the creature that enters for just

15 minutes.

My eyes attach on the dusty ceiling,

analyzing each speck and bump of its imperfection,

just like they do in my bedroom mirror.

15 minutes.

I felt love for at least some point of the day.

An act of nurturance for just

15 minutes.

Even if I now

stumble to my feet,

and search the room for an answer to a question

I can’t even bear to ask myself,

only to find traces of dignity to

put back on.

I cover myself with its remains,

walk out the door and

make myself breakfast.

SNAPS Publication