I allow myself

Because it is Monday morning. Because it is the end of national poetry month, which should really be international poetry month. Because in a world of earthquakes and other atrocities, moments of coffee and street gazing are sacred.

I allow myself

by Dorothea Grossman

I allow myself
the luxury of breakfast
(I am no nun, for Christ’s sake).
Charmed as I am
by the sputter of bacon,
and the eye-opening properties
of eggs,
it’s the coffee
that’s really sacramental.
In the old days,
I spread fires and floods and pestilence
on my toast.
Nowadays, I’m more selective,
I only read my horoscope
by the quiet glow of the marmalade.

Found on Calm Things