2.20.2007

Kitchen

In the slow-warming kitchen of our winters we move.

Touching food with our hands, arranging it, bringing it to our mouths.

Pressing onto and off each other’s bodies.

Distracted from the food and provoked by the cold.

Hungry and then fed.

Lost in our dreams and then loved.

Washing spinach in the sink.

Rinsing and stacking plates.

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