The smell of toast

Wafts like a kind thought

Filling the kitchen

Hugging me gently, whilst I spread butter and Roses lime marmalade jam

My grandfathers favourite

Mine as well

And never an awful moment that cannot be dispelled

Or at least put on hold, just for a minute

As filled with toast, butter, lime marmalade and add some black tea into it

The rest can wait

Whilst crumbs fall to my lap

And I stare out the window

Pulling the frayed edges, one thread at a time

Knitting them differently through the rosy glaze of Roses Lime Marmalade

And the rough edge of toast excoriates the cloying coils of frustration backed up in my throat

And the sweet tang of sugar soothes it

The black tea removes all of the thought about what might have gone differently

And none of this rhymes and it doesn’t quite come together the way I know it should. But life is sometimes like that, so maybe it is best accepted

And not tampered with

Anymore

Written 7/4/22