Day Tremors
Morning knocks briskly;
I hesitate, then grumble, "Come in."
He trips over the clutter
strewn around my small apartment
and mutters indistinguishable words.
Balefully eyeing my drowsy stance,
he slides onto a kitchen chair
and waits, drumming impatient fingers
on the table.
I fumble through the motions—
pour water/scoop coffee/flip switch.
As the familiar, invigorating aroma
seeps through the room,
apathy is replaced by anticipation.
Soon, we're sipping on fresh-brewed elixir,
allowing tingles of awareness
to infiltrate our existence.
And we become friends.
© Copyright 2003 Laryalee Fraser
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