Moonbeam shines through the window.
She watches the rain slam the concrete porch floor.
The roof has needed to be fixed far too long.
Money is scarce, she isn’t the only one suffering.
The aroma of coffee drifts under her door.
She perks up like a flower under the sun.
She bumps the shelf on her way to the kitchen
and picture frames crash to the floor.
She scolds herself and remembers,
no more beating yourself up.
She shakes it off.
The hush of the coffee maker finishing its deed
fills the room. The warmth as she drinks comforts her soul.
Everything will be okay.