Breakfast Without Milk

She reminds me of ancient trees,

firmly rooted despite the punishment they receive.

She who once held her world in her backyard

learned that anticipation carries a deadline.

One day it rains and her backyard sprouts.

One day it stops and her backyard wilts.

Anticipation has a deadline.

And on that day,

she did not lay out breakfast

for the milk stopped getting delivered.

She went instead to her backyard

and uprooted the tree with twin stumps straddling the pond.

“They drink more water than they deserve,”

she said with a heavy sigh.

“Shall we have breakfast tomorrow?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said,

“but not with milk.”

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