In this early morning silence I make the school lunches ritualistically.
Too tired for thought, I always
Stack the bread in two piles of two
Then get the peanut butter, open it at the table.
Return to the cabinet for the fluff.
I always smirk as I turn around.
Because fluff is so nasty
And the windows are still darkened, this time of year.
It is as if the sun itself has pounded the snooze alarms
And eeks out a few more minutes before rising.
Back to the table,
I smooth the peanut butter
Onto one sandwich for my son
And one sandwich for my daughter
I open the fluff and knife gashes into that strange consistency…
Tomorrow, these gashes in the marshmallow will be gone.
It will be smooth again.
Is there some fairy that runs around and does this?