She is awake before watch buzz–this does not surprise her. She is always awake when she would rather be asleep. She is not hesitant to leave the lavender fleece shroud wound around her because whatever roused her left in its wake a wave of heat and sweat across her chest and forehead. It will happen again as she removes the green kettle from the burner as it begins to whisper its whistle, as she fills the glass French press with the roil. Is it the heat of the electric coils or the anticipation of the sole vice left in her life? She has made good practice of exorcising cravings, does not miss them as she slices a too ripe banana into the Nutra Bullet she bought during lockdown because smoothies seemed like a healthy alternative to chocolate chip vegan waffles. The dogs aren’t eating, and she is trying to accept this–so what if they aren’t on her schedule. She tops off the frozen blue-rasp-straw-berry heap with cashew yogurt and lightly sweetened cacao nibs, screws on the bottom–sharp blades will bring it all together. She twists and holds the cup as it comes alive, the vibrating hum of what will sustain her.

Jenn Monroe is the author of two poetry chapbooks and her work has appeared most recently in Banyan Review. She writes, runs, and loves in the wilds of New Hampshire.