Archives for posts with tag: breakfast

Jill Wellington grapefruit-3133485_1920
Just Grapefruit
by Penny Harter

Carefully, I place half a grapefruit
into the small white bowl that fits
it perfectly, use the brown-handled
serrated knife to cut around the rim,
separate the sections.

The first bite is neither sweet nor bitter,
but I drag a drop or two of honey around
the top, love how it glazes each pink piece,
then seeps between dividing membranes.

Pale seeds pop up from their snug burial
in the center hole, and when I’m finished,
I squeeze sticky juice from the spent rind
and drink it down.

Each grapefruit is an offering, its bright
flesh startling my fasting tongue. When
bitterness spills from the morning news,
I temper it with grapefruit, savor hidden
gifts as I slice it open, free each glistening
segment, and enter honeyed grapefruit time.

Previously published on Facebook and Blog. Forthcoming in Still-Water Days, Kelsay Books / Aldrich Press, summer 2021.

Photo by Jill Wellington, used by permission.

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: “Just Grapefruit” is one of the many poems I began writing last March when the pandemic began, posting them the same or next day on both Facebook and my Blog. I continued this spiritual poem practice hoping to offer oases of calm and hope midst all the Covid (and political) chaos on television and social media. One of the ways to find peace is to pay attention, focus, on the moment. For me, this particular day’s moment was preparing and eating a grapefruit.


ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Penny Harter’s work has appeared in Persimmon Tree, Rattle, Tiferet, American Life in Poetry, and many other print and online publications. Her more recent collections include Still-Water Days (2021, forthcoming from Kelsay Books), A Prayer the Body Makes (Kelsay Books, 2020), The Resonance Around Us (2013), One Bowl ( 2012), and Recycling Starlight (2010). A featured reader at the 1985 and 2010 Dodge Poetry Festivals, she has won three fellowships from the New Jersey State Council on the Arts, the Mary Carolyn Davies Award from the PSA, and two residencies from VCCA. For more information about Harter and her work, please visit

by Shel Silverstein 

These eggs
Are eggscellent.
I’m not eggsaggerating.
You can tell by my eggspression
They’re eggceptional —
Eggstra fluffy,
Eggstremely tasty,
Cooked eggsactly right
By an eggspert
With lots of eggsperience.
Now I’ll eggsamine the bill….
Ooh — much more eggspensive
Than I eggspected.
I gotta get out of here.
Where’s the eggxit?

SOURCE: “Eggs Rated” appears in Shel Silverstein’s collection Falling Up (HarperCollins, 1996), available at

by Naomi Shihab Nye

Every few minutes, he wants
to march the trail of flattened rye grass
back to the house of muttering
hens. He too could make
a bed in hay. Yesterday the egg so fresh
it felt hot in his hand and he pressed it
to his ear while the other children
laughed and ran with a ball, leaving him,
so little yet, too forgetful in games,
ready to cry if the ball brushed him,
riveted to the secret of birds
caught up inside his fist,
not ready to give it over
to the refrigerator
or the rest of the day.

CREDIT: “Boy and Egg” appears in Naomi Shihab Nye‘s collection Fuel (BOA Editions, 1998, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED), available at

Photo: Heather Akki14, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


ABOUT THE AUTHOR:  Born in St. Louis, Missouri, in 1952, Naomi Shihab Nye is a poet, songwriter, novelist, and children’s book author. Her many honors and awards include four Pushcart Prizes, The Jane Addams Children’s Book Award, the Paterson Poetry Prize, and many notable book and best book citations from the American Library Association.




by Pavithra K. Mehta

The poetry of a croissant moon dipped in an espresso sky dusted with powdered sugar stars will enter the bloodstream directly, and begin to sing. Operatically. A pick-me-up to be slow-sipped at your own peril. Imbibe, and you risk lying awake all night. Buzzing with the beauty of the universe.  Do not say you were not warned.


ART: “Croissant moon with butterfly” by Urs Fischer, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

by Linda Pastan

I sing a song
of the croissant
and of the wily French
who trick themselves daily
back to the world
for its sweet ceremony.
Ah to be reeled 
up into morning
on that crisp,

CREDIT: “Petit Dejuner” is found in Linda Pastan‘s collection Imperfect Paradise (W.W. Norton & Co., 1988), available at

Photo: Getty Images, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED