Mismatched socks and baggy t-shirts
we bumble down the stairs.
We sit Indian style in our chairs.
Mother busies herself between
the table and the stove.
We're having pancakes
shaped like Mickey Mouse.
And we're talking.
She asks about our dreams.
Little brother is four
and he dreamt about race-cars.
She smiles and listens
"What did you dream Garrett?"
The sun shines bright into the kitchen,
he blushes at the attention.
"I can't remember I'm too sleepy."
He' so beautiful,
its all so beautiful.
Then its my turn.
I talk fast and with purpose
I dreamt about trampolines.
Everyone listens
and then we eat pancakes.
Just an average Saturday morning,
family breakfast.
Because we were a family.