#morningsbeforeschool

It’s become a ritual of some sort

Every morning, I make my coffee

And meditate at my kitchen table for a half hour

Meticulously peeling grapefruits- yes multiple-

For the days ahead

 The soundtrack of my coffee maker gurgling

It’s familiar tunes, a chorus this house now champions

With the fridge humming along

Interjecting  with an uncontrolled, occasional outburst of its own drippings 

A percolator incognito

Trickling steadily with the melody

When you listen to a popular song

You can transition your notes and mumbles to

The occasional word or a slightly altered lyrical line

Only if you take a chance

Commit to a vowel at the correct pitch,

Rapidly forming the shape of your mouth to disguise the mistake you almost made.

A murky investment at best.

Identities assemble themselves in these strange ways.

 I focus on my fingers and my anemic-blue nails,

Gently removing the bitter pith

To expose it’s pink flesh, de-evolution of the fruit by force.

A treacherous task,

Leaving the innards of the thing in its rightful constitution.

An unchanged form-a mimicry of its sonogram in its nakedness.

The susceptible  sac-like pockets of its tissues

Cling to their membranes, unwilling to separate themselves

From the stillness, the stability of their residence,

Their womb, breaking apart at even the most tender handiwork.

  I let my body do the task-

Resigning to the mis-alignment of communication

Between what I want to say and what my face does instead

in poor cohesion.

  Unreasonable, inedible bitterness still intact

The things I love only - the sweetness of the symphonic

Arrangement of vulnerability to compassion

Is conducted beneath

The stage, the ambient chamber sounds