The Temperature of Morning

To you, It is six o'clock, and the dark has not yet lifted. The sound of the kettle steaming fills the kitchen. It isn't a brilliant light, but beyond the curtains the sky is thinning little by little. When I wrap both hands around the teacup, the warmth travels along my palms and settles all the way down into my chest. Yesterday's heavy words still linger in a corner of the room, but even they feel like one more temperature. Where you drank, the scent of coffee lingers long. Morning hurries no one. At the rim of the slowly cooling cup, everything flows at its own pace. Even if you do nothing at all right now, this day has already begun.