Sunday Poems 46: Eating breakfast

Yesterday I visited my local farmers market for the first time in a year. For a long while I’d made a ritual of going every week. I loved the order buying the groceries once a week brought to my life, and when I accounted for how much less food this order made me waste, it didn’t work out to be that much more than grocery store runs. I was also eating more healthfully.

The second part of that ritual was to come home, pull out my cutting board (thick maple with a marbled pattern), my carbon steel santoku knife (perfect for chopping vegetables), and a few plastic food prep containers (mostly saved from takeout soups). Each bag of vegetables is slit open at the top and all of them are chopped up. I’ve worked in restaurants for years and over time I’ve learned just enough about what can be prepared in advance without sacrificing quality too much. The vegetables I’ve chopped up can go into the plastic containers to hang out for a few days. When I need breakfast in the morning, I can put the pre-portioned veg in a frying pan, toast some bread, and in only a few minutes, I’ve got a hot breakfast! In my experience, this works much better than my alternate morning ritual of looking the refrigerator in the eye–begging it to make the breakfast decision for me–until I realize I’m out of time and leave the house having skipped breakfast yet again. If this interests you, give it a try this week and report back to let me know if it helped.

Sundays are a nice day to go for a run. It’s been a while, so it takes a few minutes to get some clothes together. You tie your shoes on the front steps and try to remember where your run-tracking app is on your phone. Maybe it’s not worth tracking down. You speed walk the first block, trying to imagine yourself as Rocky. It’s hard to know at this time of year what to wear when out running. In the summer, the answer is usually as little as possible. In the winter, there can never be enough layers. Fall is where the challenge is. But ultimately, it doesn’t matter. Here’s the end of the block. Time to run. A poem is below. If you enjoy it, consider sharing it with a friend. As always, I’m here if you need to talk. Have a great week everybody.


casting a line

online, wrapping wires
around yourself.

your skin is a fence.

you walk around the city
feeling not quite this and not quite that.

there are no two things
without some space in between.

i am electrical cables
and you are a glass of water on the bedside table.

we push each other around,
we knock each other over in the middle of the night.

the bedsheets get wet
and there’s a rust-coloured patch soaked onto my thigh.

where does the camera go?
what does the invitation say?

trying to get untangled.


Originally published September 25, 2016.

Theodore Fox is a poet living on Treaty Six land in Canada.
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