On Cassatt’s Breakfast in Bed
What are you thinking of, Mother Dear,
as you clasp your cherubic child before
you and gaze off into the distance
between courses of honeyed tea and buttery toast?
The movements of the moon?
Mycology and mineralogy?
Or the sweet deliciousness of another few minutes of sleep,
so you can dream you live in a world where
mothers are the engineers of their own mornings?