The Kitchen ©

I think about the kitchen

with the transistor radio 

above a small refrigerator, 

the cat faced clock with a 

long pendulum tail, cabinets

with plastic plates, the pot

with boiling water on a gas

stove patiently waiting for

coffee to be filtered through 

a sock, and mother’s Rosary 

hanging on a nail in a corner of 

the eating room.  in that kitchen, 

I wanted to understand the 

meaning of a young mother

working two jobs, the alternate

dreams prepared by her in that

little space for three kids sent  

to schools to be remade, the chairs

where several Catholic friends

would sit on Saturday nights to

shout alleluia at the end of each

sentence like that was God’s cue

for an entrance and the puzzling

words sung by Little Anthony that

poured like light into the kitchen 

from a living room with a plastic 

covered sofa.  

h. j. Recinos