Cinnamon Toast and Earl Grey Tea (a poem)

Cinnamon toast and Earl Grey tea, a dash

of sugar and milk.  Comfort for a cold, rainy Friday in spring.

I look out the window, all is green even the sky.

A mirror of the trees and lawn. Where did the sunshine go? Taking with it my smile.

My contentment is fleeting. The rhubarb and tomatoes

planted yesterday relishing the rain but like me needing the sun.

My sleepy kitten Jaz

won’t stop laying on my writing arm. Why did she choose today

to sit with me, to pull me down? So, as if unable to resist

I trudge upstairs,

still in my scarf and jacket from rainy rides to school, pajamas

covered in peace symbols.  I don’t even take off the nine-year old’s sandals as I snuggle deep

in the down covers.  Taking Jaz with me we have the illicit nap.  Everything feels forbidden

today, sometimes I forget I am grown.  I don’t have to feel guilty all the time.

But conscience says I must get something done.

Fridays are for cleaning, so that Everyone

is happy on the weekend.  While I scurry around, picking up again to keep it nice;

where children oblivious drop the towel, socks, paper and pen.  A water-glass, plastic soldiers, LEGO, whatever, as they tire of it.

Cinnamon toast and earl gray tea, guilty pleasures

on a rainy friday afternoon as my soul searches

and reality catches up with me, again.