she exhaled disapproval
at wheat; said white
complimented her creation.
she loved her toast.
her fried egg genius sat
strangely on my bed of bread;
"Look what you've done, silly."
cheese pooled on the plate.
under the table, my eyes tugged
at the shirttail that shrouded
her magic.
thighs stood like messengers,
one branded from a mishap,
her mother's curling iron.
"Hurry while it's hot."
a genuine bell(e).
but now,
no more bells
or calls to the table.
just cold coffee
and thoughts of toast.
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