If only there could always be hamentaschen for breakfast:
               little cookie triangles crumbling into coffee.
If only there was always coffee.
If only the coffee would grind itself—silently.
If only I craved tea in the morning and not coffee.
If only there was always optimal-temperature tea and time to read
               during a rainstorm, soft light, a blanket.
If only in the rainstorm a cat named Edith found her way to me.
               Or an Eddie. I would also take a male cat named Eddie
               in a rainstorm, bedraggled, slightly grumpy.
If only Eddie would be willing to contemplate a name change
               to something that better fits his personality. Or if not,
if only he’d let me tell everyone that Eddie is short for
               Editorializer,
               Edification,
               One-half-of-a-set-of-identical-twins.
If only Eddie could gain the power of speech to tell me
               that last one seems like a stretch.
If only we could stretch ourselves to the ends of our claws
bend to be more like pretzels,
               lollipops,
               taffy.
If only there were more treats in the house
               when you started calling their names.
If only those treats were already made
               instead of lying in their raw-ingredient state.
If only there could always be hamentaschen for breakfast.

– Allison Burris

Author’s Note: “If Only” was written for a prompt with my writing group. If we create our own realities through our imagination, what worlds can we create? This concept can bring us to the absurd and highlight all the ways life is nonsensical while simultaneously allowing us to express our deeply held wishes.