the morning

she didn't want to stir him
as he slept. his arms long
and hairy across the white sheets.
his dark hair a tangle
on the pillow. she didn't
want to awaken him so she slipped
carefully out of bed,
and crept down the stairs,
putting on her robe as she tip toed
towards the kitchen.
she put coffee on, poured a bowl
of milk for the cat
who was already on the counter
waiting. she rinsed a cup
in the sink, then stared out the window
at the thin layer of snow
that had fallen while they slept.
she remembered her mother standing
at the sink when she was a child.
always washing a dish, a glass,
something for someone that needed it.
but here she was, alone,
unmarried, no children, a man
in her bed she hardly knew.
nothing seemed to have gone wrong.
the choices were all the right
choices, she believed, but
it was hard to catch her breath
at moments like these, wondering
what was next. she wanted him to sleep,
to sleep, and be gone
without a word. she wanted her
life to begin again, start over.
she set the two cups, two spoons,
to dry on the counter,
beside one another and quietly waited
for the water to boil.