I love a poem rich in my mouth like this one.I'm having it for my breakfast, saying the words over and over. And over.Delighted.
The breakfast traditions we all savour are definitely anticipated with relish and for me, sometimes there is an attachment I cannot explain. I agree with Deb. Thank you for the post! =D
Love the "hymnal of crumbs"- beautiful.
I must learn to 'mix myself with milk'. It sounds so soothing.
Tea is not my favourite but I enjoyed your poem; especially "hoists rooms whole from numbness"
I love how you not only blend the experience with the food memory of it, but literally yourself, bringing a whole new perspective to "we are what we eat." The chiaroscuro quality of sweetness and morbidity, dark and light of breakfast and basements is very evocative.
"All night my house lies dying in the basement"...what a wonderful line. The entire pice seemed quite dream-like...
thanks for reading!
I love the opening stanza and the hymnal of crumbs.
Balanced on the rim of a mug, lipsbecome a hymnal of crumbs,What a delightful image! What memories you dredge up in me too. Brioche, though I've had it elsewhere, always signals Budapest to me, a reminder of a few days there in 1988, first time there, on extended layover on my train travel from Cluj to Prague. I had brioche for breakfast in the open air with that amazing city for scenery.
Unique use of eclipsing, which is picked up again at the play of colors and shadows. Makes me think of thoughts circling, rumination as one slowly awakes.
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