You wake up one day
and she is singing your name over
scrambled eggs,
biscuits,
jelly,
butter,
grits,
brewing coffee,
and bacon
and cantaloupe.
And you know she loves you
and the world seems so still
and all seems so clear.
You think about how life is
and how blessed you are to have her
and there is love
there in the kitchen…
singing your name over scrambled eggs…
Everything seems perfect.

And in the midst
of your bliss
and planning for all the days ahead,
the coffee
starts to overflow
and burn the maker
and smells of burnt Brazil
and the bacon
sizzle
and pop too long
and has lost all its taste
and color to charcoal
and its not fresh cantaloupe…
store bought sliced…
not even the right season.
You don’t even like your eggs scrambled.

Something in your gut says go back to bed.
Something in your gut says take a shower
and get breakfast elsewhere.
Something in your gut says just go.
But you don’t.

Because standing there
looking at the
burnt bacon,
the strong coffee,
the chopped loupe,
the scrambled eggs…
standing there…
You…
loving her still…
loving her more…
because she tried.
And she tried
with love.

Cook her breakfast tomorrow.



From my book, "Hot Sauce & Honey"

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