kitchen poetry

14 Mar

i watch the kettle for boiling and the sun carry dust in its beams.

nothing’s ever really clean in the brightness.

yet even a vaguely tidy kitchen lends its freshness to my spirit.

order asserts herself as the chaos begins to bubble.

i close my eyes & await the whistle:

whatever comes pouring out, i sip with joy.

for this home rewards rest; this kitchen turns mayhem to mist.

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