by E Kraft
The golden aroma of percolating hazelnut beans and the steady spurts of its machine cradle me out of bed. I shuffle into the kitchen, each motion deliberate and comforting, a
daily dance between sleep and wakefulness. I cracked an egg, shrugging off its fragile shell, and watched as the golden yolk splits into the pan like a sun rising in molten slow
motion. The sizzle, a symphony of beginnings, the buttered toast, a canvas waiting for the brushstrokes of jam or honey. The butter melts, bubbles, and browns, its scent mingling
with the smoky perfume of bacon, curling into itself, trying to keep warm against the chill of the morning air. My fingers brush against the cold porcelain plate, each bite a
small act of rebellion against the empty vastness of the day ahead. The warmth of the food seeping through my fingertips and into my soul, a quiet assurance that here, in
this moment, time is measured not in deadlines or expectations but in the simple, sacred act of sustenance.
© E Kraft
E Kraft is a poetry editor whose poems have been published by The Inlandia Institute, The Hanging Loose Press, The National Poetry Quarterly, and others. She is grateful for everyone who has read her poems or attended her readings including her favorite dog from the local shelter.
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