Thursday, January 30, 2014

The Kitchen


Two faucets, one dry, for as long as I can remember
One leaking, tediously weeping

Lemon soap, that artificial yellow,
(That kind that supplied a tremendous collection of bubbles)
Those soft white friends that stung my eyes and got me in trouble
And I remember the steel wool by the sink, because touching it made my teeth hurt

Water-spotted windows: the first portal for light, of three
next the dark-caramel colored glass above the stove
Then light would slip out the back, through a sliding door

I can track the passage of time by my view of that kitchen,
First hardly a kitchen at all, only parent legs and dirty white tiles, a dusty air vent
Then the cupboards, sink, holy countertops and the fridge –
What power I felt in moving that heavy, humming gate

Soggy, wood cutting corner and cracking, peeling wood under windows
Wooden accordion-door dividing the kitchen and dining room
Forever making messy music as tiny ones run in and out and in and out and –

It seems small now, but it used to be enough room for a racetrack
(A laundry-basket racetrack)
With a carpet finish-line at the start of the family room
The louder the cartoons got the closer you were to winning

I remember the small stove, with 4 metal burners that curled up like copper snakes
This is the source of hot Kraft lunches, those perfect golden noodles
This was a rich and powerful room, a lovely and full of magic room

With always enough, and a stunning and glorious mess
It always baffled me that mom said it was “too small”

She said it was “crumby” and “trashy” and “tired” and
Then we left,

And when we left I felt I lost something in that strange and perfect kitchen.




Friday, January 24, 2014

Ode to Tea (new version)

Good morning –
And it is good, to find my fingers
Half-slipping out of sleeves,
And settling around a familiar frame

It’s good to see you at the rim,
My orb of amber sky with milky clouds,
Murky like the morning

The first thing that is done in this undone day

Rippling with the bounce of the bag
Then settling and re-settling

Sitting, finally sulking in the bottom of the cup
With a fat spice-and-paper friend

Gone, but staying, with
Steamy curls and semi-circles and remembered by
My own drowsy smile-shape

It’s good to find you
Always leaving rings on my desk

Leaving not-quite circles, soggy half-moons

Marking every morning –
Round tallies under papers and pens:
A record of late nights and early mornings

It’s good to have you,
Keeping my fingertips warm
And sending me off with a simple start –

You’ve made my mornings sweet and soft,
When I’m alone, leaning against the counter

You’ve made my eyes drowsy,
When my throat is sore and my nose stings

And you have sat quietly beneath
The back-and-forthing of me and
My sister,
My brother,
My friends -

You’ve made my sister smile
Made my brother laugh,
Made my friends gather, around tables
Or stand in circles
Made us mimic your shape

You’ve made a hot home in my stomach


Left me un-empty with pink, kissed cheeks



Wednesday, January 22, 2014

Ode to Tea

Good morning
 And it is good, to find my fingers
Half slipping out of sleeves
And settling around a familiar frame
And it is good, to see you at the rim
So still for a liquid and murky like the morning
The first thing that is done in this undone day
Rippling with the bounce of the bag and forever settling
Then sitting, and finally sulking in the bottom of the cup
With a fat spice and paper friend
Gone, but staying with
Steamy curls and semi-circles and remembered by
My own drowsy smile-shape
Always leaving rings on my desk
Not-quite circles, soggy half-moons
Marking every morning
Keeping my fingertips warm
And sending me off with this simple start
Making a hot home in my stomach
Leaves me un-empty with pink, kissed cheeks.



Tuesday, January 7, 2014

Wednesday, January 1, 2014

new years

got a tight dress and plans – 
a black dress
bright plans

didn’t get you, but got to –
got to tomorrow
tonight I got drinks

and fireworks
driving
and debris (mine, yours, 2013’s)

got sore feet from dancing alone –
and confetti hair,
chapped lips

didn’t get home until early January –
and it was different
new

because a
year is
a year

(and next year I’ll have you)

whoever you are