William Michaelian

Poems, Notes, and Drawings

Breakfast

Bread, seeds, nuts, raisins, honey. But what did I really have for breakfast? One by one, before taking a single bite, I thought of the origin and lives of each — walnut trees, fields of sunflowers and pumpkins, peanuts in the ground, a variety of grains swaying in the breeze, vineyard rows in autumn, bees busy in berry blossoms. And then I ate — slowly, marveling at how each of these things nourish the body and become nerve and synapse, tissue, flesh, and bone. So you see what I would have missed had I only gulped them down. And if this turns out to be my last meal, I can say I did not rush through it in haste to meet my end. I can say I had peace and calm. That is good fortune. And it is not mine alone.

November 6, 2021

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Categories: New Poems & Pieces

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