My mornings are for soft. With tea and time for myself. I spend an hour between awake and sleep – missing music and lovers until I’m motivated to move. I gather myself like blood-cells scabbing the wound. Teeth, skin, cleansed. Hair tied. Body clothed.

I make my way downstairs, pass the crochet projects in wait, to my computer. The notifications, emails – the buzzing – it’s endless. A constant that doesn’t deserve my soft. Too harsh for now. A brief check and I return to my practice.

The kitchen is a sacred space. The home of nourishment. As such, it should be treated special – better than I am able to. But the kitchen and I stay united, not of necessity, but in strange interest. I bumble and bubble and she (yes, my kitchen uses she/her pronouns) is entertained by my fumbles. Today, water is boiling. It, like me, is bubbling. But I cant whistle. The kettle is a greased tugboat bringing my tea barge ashore.

I like my tea unsweetened in the morning – brewed strong as the hours of the day. I sit in this, myself brewing. Sometimes I cry, mourn my friends who have passed in recent weeks. There is always at least one. There is always a reason to mourn. Sometimes I smile, remembering her embrace. This is always at least one memory. There is always a reason to reminisce.

And then it happens.

The need for completion creeps into my soft. There is an article to write, a scarf to make, a meeting to attend. There are logistics to figure out, yarn to buy, mic covers to find.

The work must be done, and so must I be.

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Morning soft
Tea and time
Between awake and sleep
Lovers motivated to move gather like blood-cells
Scabbing the wound
Teeth, Skin, Hair
Tied — Clothed
In wait

The buzzing — endless
A constant that doesn’t deserve my soft
Practice is a sacred space
The home of nourishment

To stay united
Bumble and bubble
Entertained by today boiling
In the morning
Hours sit brewing
There is always a smile
A reason to reminisce

My soft is an article
A scarf — mic
The work must be done.