house of dawn

Feet in thick socks 

Shuffle through the halls 

And across the kitchen floor 

Hands reach into cupboards 

Rearranging and putting away

Mugs 

And plates

And crystal cocktail glasses

On dusty shelves 

The sun rises 

A slice of bread with chocolate

Dry and stale from sitting out all night 

Is breakfast

To be eaten on the corner of the torn red sectional 

Which sits on an oriental rug 

Faded from the sun

Two sweatshirts and fathers vest 

Protect from the cold 

On a dry winter morning

Where skin gets cracked and dry 

From washing one too many dishes

A cycle 

A ritual 

In the morning 

Where time is still and warm to the touch 

Keeps things moving 

And gears turning

And the lights on

In silent suburbia