Mornings
I am downstairs in the kitchen,
my school clothes are cold on me.
l pull at a drawer, I open a cupboard.
I think you are asleep upstairs.
I set my bowl and spoon on the table.
I see the cereal in a pool of milk.
I move the sugar bowl and hear it scrape.
I think you are asleep upstairs.
I flatten the left side of my ribs
to the ribs of the radiator.
I tight-rope walk my soles along the pipe,
I picture you asleep upstairs.
I hold the metal spoon in my teeth.
I hold the silence like a wanted gift.
I have thirty minutes before me fat with breathing,
until the radio calls my name with your voice.
S.E. Miell lives in the UK and her hobbies are cuddling her cat and taking long baths