“Breakfast on Lexington” by Elizabeth Kilcoyne

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this time, I hold the skillet.
spinach diced and eggshell
cracked– split six into a pan
butter bubbling, basil simmer
dill and soft cheese scrambled
scraped into blue plastic bowls.

house all quiet, half sleeping.
cup of black coffee drowning
remnants of an uneasy dream.
friends roll slow from under quilts
feet shy to the cold wooden floor,
stretching towards water stains
mouths agape, morning messy.

piano music and picnic planning
muted news predicting thunder
and civil unrest, we make motions
towards consciousness, mapping
mulberry trees leaking black sugar
down maxwell and manchester st.
jealous songbirds trilling in branches.

but first we scrub grease from pans
with apple dish soap, sweeping floors
batting at egg white with paper towels.
“dance with me” one says to another,
pushes coffee table back, barefoot
on the rug. they’re swaying lazy, now
safe against each other like love does
while I watch from the kitchen sink.

-Elizabeth Kilcoyne

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