our kitchen

countless warm bodies have leaned up- lived up- against these kitchen countertops.

aunts, uncles,

cousins fighting the dog for the heater on frozen days,

friends,

friends of friends of friends,

four muslim boys and a sister in santa hats,

a woman from rwanda,

our drunk carpenter- then sober- then drunk again,

two young students from China and one sorella from Milan,

us. Leaned up against these counters.

watching my mom do magic.

huddled over leftovers at midnight or steaming coffee cups before the sun pokes its head out.

us, ever expanding, ever bringing this cruel, strange, wonderful world into our kitchen.

Reviews

[Chris Shaw]

The hub of the house. Reminds me of my childhood home. That kitchen was well and truly alive with activity. I like the atmospherics your poem gave. Night and day pictures flashed before me. Lots of people, noise and laughter.

Chris