In time to taste the last slice
Of apricot haze before morning sunshine —
I thought —
To be the giver.
Peanut butter syrup simmering on the stove and
An industrious waffle iron manufacturing perfect chocolate grids:
The gift of a warm breakfast before a cold day of snowy mountain fun.
Lanky Redwood forest of boys
Towers over me in the kitchen
(in the way)
And finds a noisy path to the table.
One refill of every plate and then
A wave to the over-packed compact car.
“Thanks, mum, for the breakfast!”
The true gift of Saturday,
Is carried on February air to my full heart.