kitchen noises
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every time i walk into
the kitchen i hear
the noise of us left
behind on the parade
of fertile homemaking
potentials whispering
in the tea cups squeezing
the streams of laughter
draining far away every
thing i touch reminds me
of some bit of those
heated high soprano
sounds inside hearts
beating furiously beside
our open future the dishes
seem to speak out coffee
mugs try to mumble the
worn wooden floor boards
creak with empty sighs
about the now of then
about the you of when
about the where of us
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Poem by Janet Cannon
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Previously published in
The William and Mary Review
(College of William and Mary, Williamsburg, VA)
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