two women, one kitchen

the adams memorial
augustus saint-gaudens
(s.cassidy photo)

two women, one kitchen

isn’t (or is it) coming up from some pride some

prejudice in a manner of speaking they say

that you only read people from your kin?

the present moment Richard

Blanco said triggers

                                                a memory

                                                a memory triggers

                                                a conversation

                and to look you see it: con-VERSE!            SATION

(you see verse

and stretch it and you’ll get sated)

                see it sit itself down at ease at your knee see you sit yourself down at ease at its knee

but lately

the word I’ve been looking for

for days and days I’ve been looking for it

is pretention does that mean I’m getting ready

to be tense to be tight to be right

in the moment now only

going back I’m not I’m slack

as twenty year old

unplucked Fender strings

and not getting on with the base-

board heat its been hippin’ with since I moved in

so when finally when there’s time

for a chord for twisting

those knobs on the head (what are they

called) and pressin’ and frettin’ I’m less

surprised at breaking than the sound I’m less surprised

at breaking than the prick of blood I’m less

surprised at my tongue’s taste-buds

coming up from the     
                                                         bottom’s                 s’mottob

(fold it

you know

you can

and want to)

bottom

like the something’s that’s been

stirred is loose enough say it came up from your favorite

lasagna pan finally coming clean at the elbow

brillo Dawn Lestoil (fuck that’s funny given the circumstances) and all

the turning up goes washing down the gurgle the gurgle

s:

the gurgle

of the

in

sink

or

ator

and this kitchen is as glad a place

I’ve been since my mother

deep in the bed-sheets twisted

at her knees her street morphine ease bleeding

beside the lifted toilet seat and the perfect arc of her

mastectomy mark a cello clef I’ve never seen full on

until I found her hours afterwards and the exclamation

on her cheek (temple to chin)

a discrete twin to the porcelain sink

where she went down feet first

and went into her shrine only the once the last ever time

while the tea-kettle burned dry while Segovia

while Bon-Jovi while benevolent

neighbors kind

afterwards save their nasty anno-

tations who like kids with playground fists will

junkiedrunkshitassbitch

baldchemowitch

shewassickbeforetheytookhertits

bring in an arm-load of wood to keep it all

from going colder than it absolutely has to