Kitchen Poem

Because sometimes
a poem sees more clearly
than we do
Today
I’m going to make a poem
of my kitchen.

In this poem
the wilted greens in the
crisper drawer the
spoiled milk
the wrinkled apples
don’t
cry sin every time I see them.

Produce and dirty floors don’t accuse.

The house has a patience I do not.

The poem says time
is sometimes not on our side
but that no clock is ticking
has ever been ticking
unless I do the winding.

It says words not in my own
vocabulary for myself
Words like
it’s okay

While I wear my house
like a shell
hunker down and try
to find words like
relax
and
forgive

The poem has already uttered them
for me.

I only have to
read it
and
believe.