Lisa Steinman, "Hum-Drum Days"

It's late, and daylight ends early.
Outside, everything smells of winter;
the forsythia has abandoned its leaves, leans
against the window, pointing in.
The empty clothesline's taut.
We are clearly waiting for something.

I want to give you the expectancy of this day
in which nothing
keeps arriving, beautifully,
in the gray variations of north.

Just imagine each morning
someone you love makes you oatmeal
and fills a thermos with tea.
Set on the dining room table,
it hisses small thermos songs
in harmony
with the furnace, wind, and pipes.
You can hear the hum in hum-drum.
It's all you needed to know.