#kitchen poems

[litlove]

PART I

PART II

[funjeans101]

Feeding someone is an act of love; a way of bestowing life – even if that life comes in the shape of Victoria sponge. Especially, in fact, if it comes in the shape of Victoria sponge. My mouth and heart are full.

I’ve learned that being fed by friends is an act of love - Hannah James

https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2020/jul/10/ive-learned-that-being-fed-by-friends-is-an-act-of-love

As someone who can’t cook, I used to find being cooked for stressful. Now I’m starting to relax

[litlove]

PART I

PART II

[pd-lyons]

maybe there is this kitchen, random on the spot by pd lyons

theres no place left to walk there no where ever to go and whatever might need doing sure it’ll just get un done   so maybe there is this kitchen maybe the coffees ready and all the sun that hasn’t shined decides to forget about winter and hang around these windows instead   what could i do to tell you what could i say to show you one day when we were not yet old didn’t we have so many things to…

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[pd-lyons]

maybe there is this kitchen, random on the spot by pd lyons

theres no place left to walk there no where ever to go and whatever might need doing sure it’ll just get un done   so maybe there is this kitchen maybe the coffees ready and all the sun that hasn’t shined decides to forget about winter and hang around these windows instead   what could i do to tell you what could i say to show you one day when we were not yet old didn’t we have so many things to…

View On WordPress

[pd-lyons]

maybe there is this kitchen, random on the spot by pd lyons

maybe there is this kitchen, random on the spot by pd lyons

theres no place left to walk there no where ever to go and whatever might need doing sure it’ll just get un done   so maybe there is this kitchen maybe the coffees ready and all the sun that hasn’t shined decides to forget about winter and hang around these windows instead   what could i do to tell you what could i say to show you one day when we were not yet old didn’t we have so many things to…

View On WordPress

[goodsensefarm]

“Welcome to my kitchen world where the poems start sometime and all the problems get an airing and the possibility of dream walking with a casual visitor is dependent on how many of us eat garlic raw. And if you are here it’s ‘cause you want to be. Not like white boys want to just be any damn where they think it’s all going on. But more like a true feeling for leaning long into the arms of a sister or a stranger who smells like wells of sadness sometime. Nothing academic to back up the story. Nothing to prove. No way to prove it. This is where the memory of smell and furious tasting goes on. Don’t try to write down the recipe. Listen to where you are going. This is not like stealing the sheet music off the stand after the colored composer has finished the gig.      Recipe now: Chickpea salad, oh, yeah.” --Laurie Carlos, The Cooking Show photo credit: Vegan Feast Catering

[deepbreathandlisten-blog]

Kitchen Poems

I Do we recycle these feelings that stick like oblong stains on the countertop, like little pieces of butter smeared on the cutting board, like she clings to every kitchen she’s ever lived in? The drain collects bits of egg shell 3 days rotten, while she dreams of sticking her hand down the garbage disposal, while the cat paces nervous, trailing tufts of loose fur along the windowsill wanting for the cat in the alley, just as the girl wants for the kitchen of her childhood.

II Our shoes peel off the floorboards in dried juice and beer. We hear the fruit flies’ lovemaking as they dive in and out of the bottles on the counter in the honey light.

III The spaces I occupy get smaller as I get older. I have become less than bones. He left in the night and took the olive oil, the butter, left some ice packs in the freezer and some blackened bok choy on the bottom shelf. He left a silence as insatiable as rust. The negative space of hunger filled the time we could have spent loving each other

For the next two weeks the only thing that could be found in the ice box was a fast-waning handle of honey whiskey. I gained weight and wisdom in the wrong places.

-JM