If I was a kitchen, I’d want
an old-fashioned woman
at my counters, rolling dough,
canning pickles, chutney, jam,
homemade pasta sauce, and
every Sunday a roast. She’d
wear her sweat like a saint,
ignore her aching back, one
practiced hand feeding her
Carnation baby, while other
children flocked to Formica,
hot flesh sticking to vinyl,
as they picked at fresh made
sweet buns, the pot on the
stove perpetually simmering.
Or give me modern efficiency –
ninjas and presses, air fryers,
and induction cookers – let the
children belly up to the breakfast
bar, chomp on veggies and humus,
while Mom totes baby in a sling,
and preps her bone broth, strains
of Baby Einstein emitting from
a propped up iPad, while a cellphone
vibrates on granite and the Keurig
spits out one more Starbucks Pike.
Just don’t abandon me, piles
of unopened mail, or tossed
aside receipts company for
coffee rings on my counters.
Please don’t litter my surfaces
with rotting takeout containers,
or dishes caked with process
cheese residue, leave my
stainless steel sinks stained,
spoiled food reeking in the
refrigerator, traces of late night
mishaps curdling on the floor;
the absence of familial sounds
declaring my presence invalid.
(Originally posted on June, 2016)
He he…I’ve never thought earlier what my kitchen thinks😊. Well, now that I know…it makes me happy that I’m making it happy these days. X
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Glad to hear you have a happy kitchen, ha ha .
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Its getting happier since I quit my job😊
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Wow! That is a powerful poem. Once again you use parallelism so expertly. I cannot relate personally to either opposite on this spectrum but feel my presence in my kitchen somewhere in between. Now that my kids are grown and moved out, I am experiencing my kitchen in new ways for me.
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It’s part of re-defining ourselves, isn’t it? When the kids left, we ate out more often – just easier since our tastes differ so much.
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Love the juxtaposition between the different times; one not better than the other, just different. The last stanza really brings the kitchen to life for me, regardless of the time you inhabit.
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Thank you. It was fun to write, and I always think the kitchen is the heart of the home, no matter what the era or circumstance.
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So true!
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Beauty and sadness. So perfectly described.
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Bless you for saying so.
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Entirely fabulous! My favourite write of yours. I’m such a fan of metaphors and a bit of a kitchen addict 😊♥️
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I like this one too – so fun.
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This was my grandmother. Oh how I miss those days ❤️
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The first kitchen was my mother’s. She sure spent a lot of time there.
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Those days are long gone. Replaced by fast food, and no time to eat. It’s really sad.
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For me, it was illness that made the kitchen inaccessible. That was the inspiration for this poem in the first place.
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I just read it again. I completely understand. I used to cook all the time, lately, not so much. It’s hard to prepare when your body says no to even a simple task…
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sure is…didn’t mean to make you read it again, but thanks.
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Three distinct worlds, one powerful message!
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Thank you – distinct, for sure.
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This is brilliant V.J.! I’m always amazed by how many people don’t cook anymore. Feeding people has always been such a joy for me my kitchens have always been well-used. The fact that I like to eat so much helps with that too.😄
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Thanks, Terri. I think the kitchen is the most important room of the house – it’s where everyone gathers.
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Me too!
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A nice read… sweet idea….✌😀
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Thank you…so fun to write.
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