Beans

On a day that may or not exist

My head laid embedded in the

lavender and cream unicorn pillow

suspended on fleecy dreams and

I was so young

I may not have been born yet

My brain was a second thought and

still forming, stirring round as

the beans downstairs were stewing and

smelling so savory and toasty

in their stainless steel kettle pot

or something quite like it invisible

to my little closed eyes, my senses

were quiet but I was not unaware

My own contentment was breathing

steady simply because because back then,

on this possible day

I was to wake, be born to, and

dream of the smell of fresh beans.

What more could one need?