Poetry 023: The Quiet Kitchen

Two glasses sat quietly on the dinner table
Beside the twin reflective tea light holders
And the salt mill, And the pepper mill
And the spoon fresh from stirring tea
And the blue mug warm from the cooling liquid
And the ticking clock that attacked the silence

A dry dishcloth sat stranded on the radiator
Beside the folding door into the living room
Where the solitary sofa sat, and the wooden stool,
And the white case full of all their books
And the small rug spread across the cold floor,
And the television reflecting the silence

The broad leaves of the basil plant hung
Almost concealing the washing up liquid
Whose bottle rested on the chopping board.
Where the worktop ended, the sink began.
The tap stared at the shiny drying rack
And the twin plates, and forks, and knives

The tins of sugar, and coffee, and tea
In single file beside the leaking kettle
And the toaster, and the coffee machine,
And the half empty spotty butter dish
Lined the worktop by the window
Through which the darkness poured

A child seat with two footballs within it
Rested beside the door to the garden
With the travel bag, and the hanging coats,
And the purple dust pan, and the broom,
And the old brown mat with fraying edges
And the football boots, and pink shoes

The fruit bowl by the empty cake stand,
And the plate with the ginger biscuits,
Had eleven cooking apples and a lemon,
And the last of the Victoria plums.
And small white pot of baking powder
Stood beneath the closed cupboard.

Twin paintings of fish on the wall
And the small white spice rack
And the clock forever attacking the silence

© Denis Adide 2011

Because it doesn’t have to be exciting to be life.

The Service

My sister asked me, as we drove to church on Remembrance Sunday, if there was going to be a third world war. I responded by saying that if there was that there definitely wouldn’t be a fourth – misquoting someone. My wife cut an eye at me and reassured my sister that there wouldn’t be a third world war because it was something that no one would benefit from. It seemed a good response for my sister as she stilled; I was troubled by it. If the reason for a cessation of arms is a selfish one rather than a social one then is peace really a reality. I suppose it is one of those things that you have to accept when it comes rather then analyze. What is clear though is that there is a deep lament within humanity for rest.

I wonder what my Sister will say to my children, or my children to hers, about Rememberance Sunday?

Lines written after the service

I could hear the children making noise from the annex
as everyone else stood in the moments of silence.
Inside I chuckled in the realization that for the most part
the future has a way of, at it’s inauguration, forgetting the past

© Denis Adide 2011

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