It's Still Life

Tea and Toast

I could lose myself
in this life. In the
kettle’s roiling kindness.
Breakfast’s on the table, I say,
and we slip in and out
of this hour of idle moods,
bite into wheat toast,
crunch and crisp
as a cliff edge.
You read the paper, share
special bits or two of news,
and I fall into silence.
My thoughts lost
in a wordless loop.

This poem for dVerse is riddled with brand names of cereals.