This one's for my baby

We went out for breakfast
and didn’t say much.
It was mostly because we were hungry,
and concentrated on the toast and butter and coffee.

We are happy. I am happy.
Despite the skirts that don’t fit,
the self image is in tact.
It’s the first time in years
I’ve felt so at home.

I wish I could remember the last moment
I felt this way. I know what town I was in,
and how old I was, but such things don’t happen
in an instant. It’s a collection of moments,
like a page of a photograph album,
or worse, like the eye of someone dying—
it slowly dulls, the light is going out.

What I want to tell you is that today
I could be anybody: a writer, a poet, a musician,
who travels through towns and likes it;
someone who receives phone calls
on snowy afternoons.

Even when I don’t say anything
over eggs and toast and coffee,
with every bite I am telling you,
this is so good.