Another kitchen poem for you, by chance as far as I know!
POETšS KITCHEN
We always knew the room
must fill a thousand purposes
and yet must cheer.
Geraniums in pots are here,
a book-rack and a candelabra,
a calendar, a telephone,
tall flowers in vases, and a straggling vine.
How ordinary seems this kitchen,
how normal the enamelled blue
and green of crockery, jugs and pans,
how standardised the microwave,
cooker and washer.
And yet how other
this room is to me now
the poet in me looks upon it,
presumes its use for rhyme and sonnet,
and spurns its copyright, my life,
which should perhaps be lived heads down,
less risk, less hubris.
A book falls open, and is read.
the phone rings, and the poet becomes
a long-distance parent; the men are fed.
The window, cramped into a corner,
looks out upon a wooded hill,
oaks further down, then pointed firs
until the windowpane is full
but for one corner, to the sky.
Wešve been there often, you and I.
Sally Evans
http://www.poetryscotland.co.uk
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