Morning

"At turns charmed and cursed, a girl knows romance

as coffee, red wine, and books"

-Amy Fleury, from "At Twenty Eight"

In the morning, Andrew wakes up and putters at the stove, making me a latte and heating water for his own coffee. When he's done, we switch, and I make him an egg over medium, sometimes toast or croissant, sometimes cheese, always pepper. We check emails and plan dinner, try our best to coordinate oil and water schedules, and aid each other in the search for missing items, like socks, bags, and books. When he leaves first, the quiet of the apartment is heavy, so I turn on NPR and fill the rooms with voices again. I pull books from the shelves that I haven't the time to read right now and I dream of staying in with a big pile of words and another cup of coffee. Most days, this must happen quickly, the day dreaming, and I put it all away with just enough time to dress and head out to the bus. Whatever the case, I'm grateful for this early time, for being awake, for the coffee, for the chatter, for the hope of what will come, even if the best of that is just another morning like the last.