because onions always
make me cry
we do this dance round the kitchen
bouncing off each other like pinballs in a space too small
for one communicating in a language evolved from grunts
and sighs and a pat on the leg that means: excuse me
our life grows from this place and there are always flowers
purchased with food because they offer the same slow
sustenance and this one tiny window does not
reveal as much as it keeps the light out behind
curtain wall curtain and there’s no room for waltzing
but we make do and break our bread in the silence
that falls between now and forever even though
you never like what i cook and i never eat what i
like we never go hungry or further than the living
room with its fire our food a dark chocolate finale
as dishes pile up in the corner crooning leftover notes
of consumption and waiting to be washed while we
do this dance round the kitchen
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Linking in today over at dVersePoets for Open Link Night, join us!
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February 18th, 2014 at 9:07 am
Bless you, onions always make my cry too! A desperate danse macabre around the kitchen, yet with its own tenderness and sweetness too. One to reread and savour!
February 18th, 2014 at 9:30 am
this felt like life. and real love. not reality tv drama, but the quiet dimness of truth. it reads like movement and . . . a pause, a catching of one’s breath, and them picking it up again, moving again. real life. just wonderful.
February 18th, 2014 at 9:39 am
Love the movement in this as though mirroring your dance around the kitchen. Onions always make me cry and I’m allergic to them too.
February 18th, 2014 at 10:01 am
cooking together can be so intimate and beautiful…an act of creation that feeds us in more ways than one….the silence between now and forever…that line caught me up…
February 18th, 2014 at 1:05 pm
The mark of a real poet is that they can find the poetics within every mundane moment of their lives, and you have done so in spades; loved this piece, liked the line /there are always flowers purchased with food because they offer the same slow sustenance/ I am a husband who still brings home flowers spontaneously just because…
February 18th, 2014 at 2:07 pm
This is brilliant on so many levels, great!
February 18th, 2014 at 3:12 pm
Loved the images and descriptions here. Beautiful!
February 18th, 2014 at 3:39 pm
Dances in the kitchen, I would say, take place at different levels. Sometimes it seems people are doing different dances than one another for a time. I like the idea of purchasing flowers, perhaps a gesture that both dancers can appreciate as well.
February 18th, 2014 at 3:40 pm
Very tender and beautiful.
February 18th, 2014 at 3:40 pm
A beautiful dance.
February 18th, 2014 at 3:41 pm
The unease grown out of habit certainly feels more acute in a cramped kitchen. How sad when all that is left between two people is silence.
February 18th, 2014 at 3:52 pm
To dance is to sing with your body and release the poetry of one’s soul. >KB
February 18th, 2014 at 4:06 pm
you never like what i cook and i never eat what i
like … and yet – it goes beyond that – love the intimacy – the dance – joy in imperfection – heck yes – that’s the way to live life
February 18th, 2014 at 4:08 pm
A kitchen too small… I recognize this.. and to write poetry about the unwashed dished remaining .. but the chocolate sounds like a good end anyway…
February 18th, 2014 at 4:09 pm
darn onions. sinuous and real ~
February 18th, 2014 at 4:42 pm
This is delightful, in all its pinball bouncing and curtain waltzing.
February 18th, 2014 at 4:45 pm
Your words flow like a dance. Beautiful.
February 18th, 2014 at 4:46 pm
Beautiful, this reads as pure contentment.
February 18th, 2014 at 6:27 pm
Onions make me cry too ~ But I love the dance around the kitchen ~ The chores can wait a bit, smiles ~
February 18th, 2014 at 7:36 pm
I can relate to this so much. We are temporarily living in a small town house. The kitchen is tiny. We cry with onions and dance around too.
Really enjoyed the read.
February 18th, 2014 at 8:02 pm
Lovely photo!:)
February 18th, 2014 at 9:39 pm
Poetry is revealed in the reader. I do not find contentment here; I find my own discontent. I find pain and loss of moments. I will reread, and try to find contentment somewhere.
February 18th, 2014 at 9:52 pm
Writing your story indeed – here you bring us into your kitchen, the nerve center of a family – the place which feeds body and soul and with this narrative you feel all of our souls.
February 19th, 2014 at 12:05 am
i think i have become immune to onions now. but here is always love in the dance around the kitchen.
February 19th, 2014 at 12:17 pm
I absolutely love this it starts as a warm glow and become a feast for the soul. Cheers!
February 19th, 2014 at 2:08 pm
Ah! we all do that dance in kitchen sometime – very interesting subject for poetry. A cool read 🙂
February 20th, 2014 at 3:51 pm
Love cooking together. When I said onions make me cry, my sweet hubby said, “Don’t get so emotionally attached to them then.” Good thing the knife was already put away! 🙂