Today I had watermelon for breakfast.
I had eggs in the morning
– but that was a year ago.
Yellow omelette with green pepper flecks;
the ting of the toaster
the maid’s brown hands on the crusty bread.
Baba at the table:
two silver forks on his plate;
one waiting for me.
I flew 2000 miles
to eat watermelon for breakfast;
buried myself in a sea of paper.
I drink coffee as dark as ink
in the yellow mug that travelled with me.
– I chipped the rim last week
and the Badshahi Mosque has almost faded.
I might eat eggs for breakfast
on a Styrofoam plate with a plastic fork;
my mornings don’t have pinstriped shirts
or lingering aftershave-smell.
Baba, I miss eating from your plate.