7:53 a.m.
the stairs wince
as our soles trample
down the gray, faded carpet.

we are in a rush, as always—
no time for scattered fragments of
sun and light and joy
before our day begins.
the sun, however,
has different plans for us.
unabashed, she catches our eye as we reach the threshold.

stay, she murmurs,
as she pours her sweet milk
into the kitchen,
beckoning us.

her shimmering limbs
dance across the floor,
ripple off the sink,
sway through cast iron,

and hug a tender,
golden loaf resting on the table.
sit, she tells us. we are entranced as
she offers us bread.

la mie, encore chaude,
fond sur nos langues
la croûte, légèrement farinée,
croustille entre nos dents.

en fermant les paupières
nous savourons cet instant
ensoleillé, doré, équilibré,
infime et infini.

opening our eyes, we thank the sun for holding time still
she winks
before eclipsing herself
behind a gauzy cloud.

we resume our day,
yet, at the corner of our mouths,
remain faint traces of smiles and a
touch of flour.