the kitchen window

which is not the same as the kitchen sink
because that would mean everything,

and this is just a window.

and just now, there is too much everything,
everywhere,
every minute.

i want clear blue sky and calm cool morning.

but it’s autumn and the colors are raucous
and speaking of raucous,
i’m missing those crazy-loud geese parties
down at the swamp
that aren’t happening this year

because there’s no swamp.

and i’m not writing because there are no words.

so i wait.

and winter will come and i will miss all this color
and wish for things I don’t have
the same way as today

and that bird in the tree,
that bluejay who spends his days
as a beautiful bully

and the monkshood just starting to bloom,
in amidst all the kisses that need cutting down

and this could all be metaphor
for so many things,
but it’s not, it’s all true,
right outside

this tiny kitchen in

this tiny house

this tiny life

half-invisible

portal.

.

.

.


5 Responses to “the kitchen window”

  • Amy Says:

    Oh, I know how this feels all too well. I mean, just *years* of not writing because there aren’t any words, wishing for the impossible, feeling like my life is so tiny and muted and… frankly, almost entirely invisible. It might take a while, but it will pass. {{{hugs}}}

  • Gerry Miller Says:

    The word raucous to describe fall, is absolutely perfect. Although I’m enjoying southern Utah’s fall color it isn’t nearly as glorious or raucous as fall in the Pennsylvania mountains. We left PA 5 years ago and I still miss “real fall color.” Your poem is perfect for me today!

  • Renee Says:

    So much to be seen just outside a kitchen window. In the house I sold last year when I looked outside mine there was a Jay who was constantly chattering at the squirrel he knew was taking his nuts from his tree. The squirrel just looked at him and continued his collecting of nuts. Nicely written

  • Brian Says:

    I really like your stream of thoughts, how the window expands and contracts based on mood and season.

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