I walk and meditate, and I’m famished.
My husband returns from swimming laps.
With unplanned synchronicity
we take our places in the kitchen.
He hoards the cutting board,
slices a peach and banana.
I prepare coffee. We pivot for a
choreographed collision at the refrigerator,
him for almond milk, me for an egg and jam.
We exchange no words, for
we are dangerous before we eat.
With our preparations complete,
I covet his bowl of cereal and fruit,
and he eyes my lightly-over egg and toast.
Safely seated in a no-chatter zone,
we take favored newspaper sections.
Earlier I meditated on wherever I go, there I am.
My mantra shifts: wherever I go, there he is.
(from Marriage and Other Leaps of Faith, Penciled In, 2015)