Poem -
6 AM
6 AM
Lee.
Breakfast at my home is unlike any other.
I don’t have a bowl of cereal or a traditional English fry-up;
Neither a slice of hot, buttered toast.
Instead, I have a slice of the Past.
It's nearly quiet at my table as I consume slices of memories; quiet except for the occasional trill of birdsong and the gurgle of percolating coffee.
Amidst and inbetween my ruminating of childhood trauma and adult mishaps and the coffee's percolating,
I remember love, and the face of a girl who wore a flower in her hair, and her scent, oh her scent! was as potent as the coffee that percolates as I ruminate, sat at a table, devouring memories, not wasting a crumb.
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Comments
A bit melancholic, with a very positive outlook. Pretty good imagination, Lee. I really like this.
Cheers☕️☕️!
Bernadete
Thank you kindly, Bernadette, for the feedback 🌺👍☕️
Well the breakfast part is so relatable even today, dear Lee, holding on to that memorie of the girl and the smell is of great significance not wasting a crumb. Wonderful. 🌹
Thank you, Shirley. ❤️🌺I find a much more comfortable home in the past; it resonates much more than the present for some reason I’ve yet to find.
Dear Lee, I've very recently visited London, and after 50 years I've finally got it, I never belonged and my family were never interested in loving me or ever caring for me, always more loving to strangers. I had an incredibly emotional weekend, but now I'm back home where I belong with my beloved friends and family who I have chosen. Your poem really has touched me. 🌹 Take care dearest Lee.