Breakfast’s Quiet Crunch

Milk drips slow down cracked ceramic—

the spoon strikes the bowl, sharp, too loud.

Crunch of flakes, brittle and empty,

sounds that fill a kitchen quiet enough

to hear regrets snap between teeth.

No talk this morning,

just the rattling of the spoon

against milk and shell,

a morning full of pauses

waiting for someone else to speak.

Cereal dissolves, silent witness

in a cracked bowl where nothing

stays whole, not even the quiet.