The ripe flesh of fruit in the bowl assaults her morning sensibilities.
How can the day be so orange and festive when all she feels is nausea and turmoil.
Grey light and the microwave beeps its warning that the cup of caffeine has been reheated enough to not scald the lining of her mouth once she adds the milk.
The pears are orange today. Even Apples show hints of nectarine.
Outside flowers sing in the brutal light.
The sun is captured within cut crystal and glass carafes.
Inside her flimsy petals are folding up on themselves.