Shaina L. Ellis

Comfortable

I awake in a jumble of blankets

Looking for a clock but knowing

There are no clocks downstairs

I stumble out of bed knowing

The reason I slept so late

Was there are no windows

In your room

I reach the top of the stairs

And see you standing by the stove

Your long fingers throwing different

Materials into a mixing bowl

You are making some omelets

With a wide array of colors

Like in a Mexican parade

The greens and reds of peppers

The yellow of the yoke

I ask why you let me sleep so late

You look up at me and

Tell me to be seated

The food will be ready soon