Noelle Bryggman
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The sun glistens through the kitchen window
Slowly blinding me as I prepare breakfast
Steam escapes the teapot with a sharp screech
As I sit at the table I cannot help but hear the neverending drops of water
Flowing from the faucet
The loud bang of the refrigerator door being opened and closed
A sharp knife scratching at the bottom of the plate
And even the sound of burnt toast being buttered with a dull knife
The cold metal of the knife scrapes at the container of unmelted butter
I take a bite of the toast
Butter dripping down my hand
Blackened bread crumbs descend from my mouth
I hurry to leave and start my day