We have sunlight streaming through our house. Our table,

A rubber wood circle that's looking old, glitters and the butter

Starts to melt. Liquids all over the place are turning into solids.

I take a knife, a jar. The first one I can touch, and the lid snaps

Off. The strawberries in there are over a year old, I can tell

Just by the smell. Bread slices are stacked up, like a leaning tower.

But it crumbles when I reach towards it, and falls into my plate.

One by one, it's like I'm watching a game of domino fall apart.

Coffee, thinned out by water, and thickened by milk, forming

A tranquil sea across two cups, and for the children, for us,

Warm chocolate. My sister mentions waffles, and the thought of

Maple syrup hangs in the air, sticky sweet and tempting. We race

To the kitchen, and the cups quiver. The bread, abandoned and cut-up,

Is the saddest thing I've ever seen.