When the 5:45 alarm isn’t enough

When the backup alarm at 6:00 won’t do it

A mother’s soft spoken words will.

“Would you like me to make breakfast for you?”

The crack of an egg, the drop of its yolk

Fetching sunglasses for the sizzling sunrise orange

Blood red eagerly waits to pierce through the skin—

while a shield of white protects the center

The crash of burnt toast, the rattle of the vitamin D bottle.

Making half-awake conversation, inexplicitly stating,

“We’re both too tired to speak.”

Take a seat at the table, take a sip of water

The wait is over and the yolk can run.

Take the first bite and the steam scorches the mouth’s roof-

tender, like the chef, who gave this house a roof

When the speed of the air sounds the 6:38 alarm,

When bags are triple-double checked,

and the sound of the plate meeting the sink is enough to say,

“Thank you.”