first slice of day

I leave the window open to let air move into my cave of color room. In the morning the breeze catches my skin, the sharp edge of morning. Climb the stairs for a cup of heat having forgotten the ache that left me fetally curled around the dark center of a pain I know to be minimal if taken to the scales. It meets me in the morning half way up the stairs, a punch in the gut on a deserted street. I rest on the top step resting my forehead and mind against the hardwood floor, there was a time when walking on it seemed like walking on corpses. But hardly anyone can maintain ideals like that for long, though that was the summer they cut down all the trees and left a wasteland hill. I can hear dad rising from his own bed and raise myself before an attack of questions I do not want to bear. I'm tired of the mundane questioning, I savor the questions stemmed from honest human contact, even more so when they truly hear my answers. thank you. Today is the day of innocence, of Alexander, at least the morning is, then on to a lake. Whee! [just kidding]