Every morning

I have a morning routine. 

First, I am a teepee dweller
breathing in steam swirls to wash out the dreams.

Then I am an Inca king
sipping my coffee and planning the day.

Then I am a Roman soothsayer
picking around the gray morning in my robe and sandals,
bending down, taking the news from a bag.

Then I am an inkeeper's wife
scaring eggs around the pan.

Then I am a Russian aristocrat
reading how the world goes to tell my family later.

Then I am an old midwife
looking out the window for a sign.

Then I am a medicine man
shaking icemelt gravel on the steps outside.

Then I am a Geat hero
because the ice growls when I turn my back.

This is how all my mornings go.

-Citron