Morning light through cloudy glass
warms the vinyl tablecloth, 
illuminates the steam 
rising from her coffee.
Every morning, buttered toast,
made from the cheap wheat bread. 
She licks her finger
and picks up every crumb.

About the photo

Just morning light in the house I live in now. There is something about the way the light comes through my kitchen window in the morning that often reminds me of how the light came through my grandmother’s kitchen window. Many of my memories of her are connected to what we ate when we visited. The above memory is one of many of sitting at her vinyl-covered table in the morning, eating cereal with added spoonfuls of sugar while she ate her toast.