Tuesday, April 7, 2026

April 7: A Note from the Kitchen Drawer

 


Today is going to be the day you notice 

hardened crumbs nesting in vertices. 

Today you are going to take a damp cloth 

to these corners, to sort this filth. Please: 

Tell me how buttons burst from blouses

came here, why no one cares about

taking a dirty whisk to eggs or a spatula

still crusty from the batter bowl. Please:

all these remnants of work started, 

a business card jammed in a joint, 

the ink of words embossed, unread. 

Why me? I am a library of things

unaddressed, items neglected 

residuals ignored at best most likely 

forgotten altogether all the things 

not enough to remember but:

not enough to forget.


Written beside Zoe Higgins’ “Ode”

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