dawn.

early. 
while the sun is still on 
its way
from the other side of the 
mountains.
i boil the water in   
ceramic kettle with 
blue triangles, the handle cracked but not broken.
i rummage around for coffee beans,
grabbing my little brown wooden 
spatula. 
i press down the top of the tiny
french press 
compacting the beans,
creating glorious black silk. 
i reach for the heavy cream. 
morning can come
now.