The smell of bacon and coffee teases my nose
As I tiptoe like a ballerina on the cold floor.
Her sleepy blue eyes and crooked smile greet me
“Good morning,” she says.
Yes, it is a good morning.
She has a glass of orange juice waiting for me.
High pulp.
She knows it’s my favorite.
The sweet, tart sun-colored liquid
Slithers down my throat as she distorts her face in disgust.
I know she prefers coffee.
The bug-eyed, always smiling face of our pug
Flashes as he dances to the chatter of
Whatever is playing on Animal Planet.
We both know he loves Animal Planet.
The cold of the fridge hits me as I search for the cream cheese
But it doesn’t take away
From the warm of the August sun
Streaming through our hand-me-dow curtains
That grace the kitchen window.
Finally
A Sunday morning, a perfect Sunday morning
In our world
On our time.
But then I wake up…