For The Coldest Morning

As I am lying underneath a grey duvet

my head is buried amongst six pillows.

I long for chai with a little cream and honey.

I remember a piece of art

on red construction paper that

came out of nowhere.

 

I am reflecting on

the letter the one year and

the apologies

remorse and

the embers glowing in the fireplace.

 

They ask me how I maintain and

I want to share yet I remember

our uncanny ways of making each other love

what we love and hate

what we do not understand.

 

As I listen to the sound of the flute trombone

viola harmonica and the snare I am

sitting amongst six pillows

underneath a gray duvet

drinking chai with a little cream and honey.

I remember the drawing

on red construction paper that

came out of nowhere.

 

The reason to climb out of bed onto

my feet.

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