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By John Knight
Published in the 2023 journal.
O homely kitchen, cramped yet comfy, shelving and all
Dust lurking in corners and scratches on the floor
Cabinets stained and dented, clunky and ornery
A window, bowed and filmy with years of peering eyes resting on the sill
To peeling paint and peeling pots,
A stove leaning with an unseen tilt
A fridge with messy shelves, and crumbs on the counter
A creaking chair and weak stair steps,
A cramped table slotted tightly around the knees.
O the smells dancing lightly upon silent breezes,
A cool drink sloshing gayly down the glass
Quick feet bouncing and little hands grasping with delight
The swells of laughter waltzing about the room,
The oven chatting idly, tossing up bounties for our feasts,
The passing of pans and scooping of spoons, serenading the room
A steaming broth warming the face, taken from mother’s hands,
A plate of bursting fruit pie, given by the father
Please pass the potatoes, brother. The meat, sister?
Do you hear it? The quiet warmth of a dirty table cloth,
There was work done here, and full bellies because.
When it is all done, the peaceful, unspoken silence of a homely kitchen.
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