May
In the Kitchen
Avoiding the early summer heat,
I lie belly-down.
A kitchen battle
that has carried on
until moments ago.
The summer clothes
I hurriedly throw on:
a T-shirt
bearing the logo
of a job I’ve long since left,
and a pair of shorts
that seem
oddly self-conscious.
Even the ceiling fan
spins on and on,
like my eldest sister
when she starts in
with her nagging.
As I reach
for an ice coffee,
even the glass,
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after sweating it out,
seems to pause
and catch its breath.
A kitchen,
freshly preheated.
I bake
apple strudel
the one my husband
used to sing while making.
The furnace-hot love song
rides a stray breeze
all the way
to the neighbour’s nose.
“I can smell it
all the way over here.”
A day
that might have been
nothing at all
slips into evening.
