Jingle Bells in the Cafe Kitchen

Jingle Bells In the Cafe Kitchen

At the Black Dog Cafe, it is a hot summer.
Mary folds the meticulous edges
of the beef and garlic dumplings.
Her clothing clings in immigrant passion,
holding too tightly to her skin.
She is pinching soft, white corners,
singing Jingle Bells, again and again.
Her brown fingers divide loyalties
in stripped pieces of dough.
The air conditioning is broken,
but only in the kitchen.
Mary doesn't care,
she is dashing through the snow.
Her face is bright red
in stinging blasts of furnace blows.
She cuts a perfect pace through perfect woods.
She works fourteen hour days
without the company of words.
She slips four cornered dumplings
into the frizz of hot oil.
She has a thousand burns
that no longer show.
Stoic in the bright heat,
that glows white, melts snow.
Elbow deep in kneading,
over the hills she goes.

Reviews

[Terry Collett]

You have brought Mary so well we can almost smell her and touch her and feel her dedication. The poem is going to be another favourite of mine I know. Excellent.

[Tracie Skarbo]

wonderful! I love this look at "The Black Dog" cafe and their inhabitants. Great imagery through out!

[The Rock And Roll Cowbo..]

Mind over matter... sometimes we need to just let go of everything around us to endure he realities of life... very original and creative.

[Narnie]

I really like this. I would really like it to be spaced into couplets because I'm kinda quick and it would slow the eye down as one reads... plus there are so many fantastic lines, it's a shame to rush on too fast? Lovely to read something so original! :)

[cest la vie]

God bless Ed...once he reviews there are no more words for the rest of us..
You are a marvel poetess Ms. Phibby!!!

[Ed Hart]

I'm through trying to keep up by praising; I came, I saw, I shook my head, again...