waking up, drinking coffee
“Take this sinking boat and point it home, we’ve still got time.”
~ Falling Slowing, by Glen Hansard, Markéta Irglová
In the morning you leave me in our bed
wrapped in the comforter your mom made
in the summer, the bedroom window is open,
and the hall fan is blowing a breeze across my skin
you’re making coffee and pancakes, or frying bacon
it’s always something – always for me
you’re humming a tune, I can hear the distant melody
traveling the chromatic scale of the stairs to my ears.
Years before, I sang the wake up song
my hair draped across your forehead,
the soft brush of my lips on your cheek
♪ ♫ You used to laugh under the covers,
maybe not so often now ♪ ♫
instead of pulling me close you leave me alone
and your hardened feet walk along the soft wood,
a gurgling pot of coffee is what wakes you these days
from our bed I hear a little voice ask: why?
ask: can I have a snack?
ask: is Mimi still sick?
ask: can I watch Caillou?
from the bed I hear a deeper voice answer
she is the songbird of our morning routine
on the rare occasions we make love
she rushes in soon after and asks
if I am ok, and wants to snuggle
caresses my face like a lover
you take her downstairs, so I can sleep
for Frozen cereal or chocolate milk
and Scoobie Doo episodes
only a few years in this world — our world
and the songbird bellows showtunes
from a cavern deep within, a brilliant memory already
she sings while pouring imaginary tea
a reminder of the magic inside her soul
a remind to me, it is your magic, too.
/ / /
29 April 2015