This Morning

By Kathryn B. Frandsen

this morning started

way too early

the cereal burned

and small baby fingers

threw most of it crashing

to slide

on the shine

of the

newly waxed

floor

but on your quick way

through my same

kitchen-world

you walked around

cereal

and left me a kiss

on the warm

of my neck

now even this morning

(that started

too early)

sings the song

that you whistled

to me