Bed and Breakfast

My husband amused by me at the last breakfast buffet I shut down.

Laundry covers the bedroom floor like a cloth buffet. I prefer unlimited bacon, eggs, lox. Berries.

I tidy a meal of towels, fold them into manageable squares and stack them like pancakes. Blankets are like Belgian waffles. Dust motes sifting through the air: powdered sugar.

I find myself in athletic gear: bras, leggings, tank tops. My husband exists in jeans and t-shirts. My children in dresses and sweatpants and shirts leaning on favorite TV series.

I consider sending the socks back to the kitchen where they can be set on fire. A quick brulee to save the day from the scarcity of matches.

My belly grumbles for sweet, salty and savory. All I have on offer is coffee in a pumpkin mug as I tuck into the spread. I will be nourished when I’ve put it all away.