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Stove-top clouds of steam for weeks,
Flour dust on apron cheeks,
Woks and ladles tap a beat,
Spoons go dancing in the heat.
Calendars grow thin and torn,
Clatter loud then softly worn,
Plastic bowls in every size,
Stacked until they scrape the skies.
Smoke swirls out above the door,
Red dust settles on the floor,
I still set the plates in rows,
Counting seasons as they go.
Smoke swirls out above the door,
Red dust settles on the floor,
I still pour the water in,
Let the kettle sing again.
Calendars grow thin and torn,
Clatter loud then softly worn,
Plastic bowls in every size,
Stacked until they scrape the skies.
Smoke swirls out above the door,
Red dust settles on the floor,
I still set the plates in rows,
Counting seasons as they go.
Smoke swirls out above the door,
Red dust settles on the floor,
I still pour the water in,
Let the kettle sing again.