This Morning

by Tina Posner

I leaned in to smell the coffee steam,

caressing my cheek with damp tendrils,

unscrolling into ampersands and clefs.

In the early quiet, before I clean my eyes,

dress, and list my chores, the world steps

in like a shy lover. The cold creeps up

from stone pavers. It licks my soles.

A breeze shakes out my night-pressed hair.

I giggle as the last winter leaves tremble.

I imagine them holding in laughter from

some tasteless joke we shared and

kept secret—the way survivors do.