February 6, 2012
dear kitchen
you are my first memory
sitting tall on the bar stool
feeling the harsh grain of the wood on my palms
my feet swinging back and forth
back and forth
watching the words of a thousand voices curl in the air

dear kitchen
I remember the day I came home
and mom had painted you purple
soft like the lavender sun
she was already halfway done when I saw her
masking the pale sickly yellow with
vibrant purple
it made me feel

dear kitchen
I remember when we would concoct
on your white counters
singing improvised songs
stirring rich colorful mixtures

dear kitchen
i remember the heat
and the cool of the linoleum
we would stretch out
melting into the floor
becoming one with you
becoming boneless
our sweat leaving marks on your white floors
our bodies fighting to keep things constant

dear kitchen
through your eyes
i saw life
surrounded by ripe lemons
carefully woven
with three little spheres inside
speckled spheres of life
we watched maternally
and three little chicks soon joined the
humming of the world

dear kitchen
i remember the sounds of laughter
loud and raucous
the sound of beer bottles clinking
and stories of "the good old days"
staying up past our bedtimes
quiet as a mouse, trying to blend in
trying to catch one more drunken story
one more memory, relived

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