In the Wee Hours of Our Morning

Photo: Sparky and Zoe
by David Slotto

This morning as I write

curled up beneath a lap robe—

(the one with horses

galloping across my chilled body)

you read the sports page

at the breakfast table.

Cold air invades the room

through twenty-some-year-

old windows.

Hot coffee, warmth offered by

the nearby fireplace and two

sleeping dogs, pressed close,

bring some relief.

I cherish the comfort

of our shared silence.

 

I glance your way.

Glasses on the table,

you hold the paper just

inches from your face,

read the small print

of yesterday’s NBA scores.

My pen scratches across

notebook paper as thoughts

tumble out, escape the still-

clouded sleepiness of half-awake.

You fold the paper,

stretch and yawn.

“Let’s drive the neighbor-

hood tonight. See the lights.”

“Let’s take the dogs along,”

I answer.

Silence.

I know that means agreement.

I cherish the comfort of your silence,

read between your words.

Photo: David Slotto
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