Breakfast in Bed
It’s not all it’s cracked up to be
Today, I will make myself breakfast
And try to remember how often it was made for me
Not much since I left home
There are barely there memories of Mother’s Day trays
With a flower, tea, and something simple
Toaster waffles or maybe a muffin
And a small glass of juice
Just like in the Hallmark card commercials
The ceremony causing much excitement
With the occasional mishap
When toddler, dog, or Dad’s elbow
Tipped the tray and soaked the sheets
Maybe they stripped the bed and remade it
Maybe they washed the sheets, but I doubt it
And if they did, I supervised
Which, as any mother will tell you,
Is more work than doing it yourself
“Relax, Mom. We’ll take care of it.”
But I can’t relax
Will they treat the stains?
Will they get the wash settings right?
Will they mismatch the pillowcases?
And now, when my capacity for food is diminished
They want to take me to a lavish brunch
Ply me with bottomless mimosas
Killing what brain cells I have left
When all I want is tea and a muffin
To eat in silence
While they slumber on
As the sun bleaches shadows
And gathers strength to shine again
