Making Breakfast

Making Breakfast by Edmund Siejka We live Where trees Reach out To shade A quite place. Saturday morning Chores Kids still asleep She moves effortlessly Cracking an egg Then another Adding seasoning Stirring A blur of movements A flick of the wrist And breakfast is ready. She is the Mistress Of the house The kitchen Is where We have dinner A chance for us to Share and Talk Listen to our kids Ask questions And grow. “Where is the salt?” I ask Morning sun Gleaming On my wife’s Soft brown hair Just brushed back Warm sleep Clinging to Every corner of her dress. The woman Who says she loves me Puts up with me Stands Arms folded Leaning against the counter She is the only one Who can say “It’s right in front of your nose Where it always is” I look sheepishly The ceramics twins Smile back at me In shiny silence Knowing that without her I wouldn’t have breakfast.