THE ROUTINE

from the kitchen window
before the sun is barely up
showing streaks of purple and orange
that cover the sky light like a bruise
we sit across from each other
i see the morning rise, and
she sees into the living room
where we have a fire going
to break up the early morning chill
we are content in our little ways
our morning ritual where nothing changes
not in all our years, the sameness
is what keeps us intact, without it
we would shatter and break- none
of that for us, as she gets up from
her chair and fixes another cup of
coffee, no more than two for her
then i get up to move the logs
around in the fire place, the embers
pop and glow as i move the logs
around, then back to my seat for a little
while longer, i look at her, she looks
up at me, we see how age has taken
hold, the lines under her eyes, the
all whiteness of my hair and beard
still we see through it all and marvel
at the outside changes in us, around us in
our unchanging life, i take her hand and give
it a little squeeze, she squeezes mine; our
silent acknowledgement to each, of our status quo
all is good between us and will continue to be so
as long as we do not change one iota of our life

by Michael Perry