The coffee made early morning rests cold in the french press.

Waiting our communion

Not myself and the coffee,

yet all the parts of me circled in grand reunion.

Small me with strawberry pants and Tonka Truck carrying Barbie in tow.

Chubby me squeezed into tights and taken to dance to explore life as the tiny doll that twirled around in my jewelry box.

Proud athletic me moving swiftly across a soccer field with fierce Mom encouraging me on. 

Curious me lying in bed with with my small troll lantern, 

writing stories about the creatures I imagined roaming our muddy creek.

Sexy me slinking around with my desires.

So many me’s to pour a warm cup for.

I’ll likely need more coffee, a longer table. 

I lift my ax to split a thick round of oak into four logs to feed the wood-stove.

Gather them each into my arms to carry in

1,2,3,4 separate pieces of a whole.

Some thick and gnarled with protective bark burls that’ll burn slow, 

others thin and ‘doty’ which makes for good kindling.

I set them on the cardboard box splayed out on the living room floor

and we make our way toward the table.

All of us.