Megan Rilkoff
A New Habit
This morning, I drank coffee again.
This is a new habit
Of having nowhere to be in the morning.
It fills the time.
Its sweet smell as the beans grind,
The chocolate liquid as it darkens,
How the grinds settle like sand on the glassy bottom.
I drink half of it black.
Dump the rest down the sink.
The rules now are:
Eat when you’re hungry
Move when you’re restless
Stretch when you’re sore
Cry when you can’t go on.
Pour a drink, a bigger drink,
Pretend it’s the weekend.
Pretend it’s vacation.
If we’re lucky, we can trick ourselves
For a moment.
Ironically,
In this April winter of our lives,
Nature is blooming, coming to life.
The red-breasted robins tiptoe up to our front door
And pick at the worms
With a dramatic head banging.
The squirrels screech from the top-most branches.
Chipmunks chirp—have you ever heard a chipmunk chirp?
Its shrill staccatos.
How its tiny body quakes with each force of its lungs.
I wonder if they can sense
How the humans are hibernating,
As their season of quiet waiting
Gives birth to a new freedom.
—Submitted on 04/04/2020
Megan Rilkoff is a middle school English teacher and emerging writer. After teaching in Laos and New York City, she now works in Central Pennsylvania, where she lives with her fiancé.
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