Brunch in London

Brunch in London

The best brunch I ever had
was at a Mediterranean place in London,
so small it sat only 10 people. 

I had tabouli and sweet Turkish coffee,
red roasted carrots on labneh, and eggs
wrapped in eggplant, with a piece of apple cake.

I don’t live in London, but on Sunday mornings,
when I wake up after the sun, which turns my room
the color of egg yolks over easy, I go to London. 

I plant my left foot, stretch out
my right, like a runner, and take
the Atlantic Ocean in one, long stride.

What gluttony, to get to London as one might get the mail,
to meet you by the restaurant’s yellow door, to kiss you
brusquely, because breakfast awaits.

This poem originally published in Darling Magazine