Waking Up

Waking up   

    I’m five.

The mornings always seemed bright.

    We didn’t have much,

but Sundays we had each other.

    Walking down the staircase

the air is lifted with the ecstasy of buttermilk, bacon, blueberries,

stale cigarette smoke and bitter cheap coffee.

    My mother is in the kitchen.

My stepfather’s hard at work reading the paper.

    The Lions are going to lose again today.

My brother is in front of the tv watching the tunes,

It’s cold and outside the whites of winter cover the ground.

    Christmas is coming soon.

“Its ready”

    We rush to the dining table.

We sit down, she brings the food.   

    Lifting spirits towards the heavens

we graciously take our bow and say the Lord’s blessing.

    We eat in each other’s company.