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Breakfast Mornings

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  • Breakfast Mornings

    Breakfast Mornings

    Breakfast is an apology my mother makes
    for not coming home night before.
    She puts a bathrobe on over last night’s
    blue cocktail dress and makes sunny side-up eggs,
    the yolk spilling over the edges of toast.
    Her makeup still on

    like mine was when I made eggs for Philip
    knowing he preferred sex instead.
    My mother taught me this about men:
    that they would always take what I offered them,
    and that when they complained or wanted more,
    I should leave.

    But Philip sits and asks
    why I didn’t ask him to help me.
    He means for me to stay.
    Quietly, my father makes black coffee
    and pours some for my mother.
    The steam curling, beckoning.

  • #2
    This is an interesting poem. I love that you are using a specific instance to demonstrate understanding instead of talking about it in vague terms, and the image of a mother making breakfast, wrapped up in bathrobe over the previous night's attire, is well set. I was a bit confused about the age of the narrator--who both apparently lives at home with her parents but also has a lover/boyfriend/significant other(?). Overall, though, this was nicely done. Good luck in the contest.

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