kitchens

one of the greatest joys of living in an apartment is having my own kitchen. it's so nice to have food and utensils and recipes and friends together in one place. kitchens are safe places: places for us to gather together, to celebrate the simple joys of good food and good company. just say the word "brownies" and you'll have a crowd surrounding you, and no left overs (thank goodness).

these past couple of weeks have been an interesting adventure. i have found myself frequently overwhelmed by things, being back at linfield: questions about my experiences in england leave me stumbling for words, large groups of people leave me nowhere to focus, multiple conversations happening at once leave me mute. it is wonderful to be back, no doubt about it, but it is a different place then when i left. i'm a different person than when i left. and the result of those truths is that i find myself simultaneously at home and a stranger.

kitchens are somewhere that i feel at home and "at" myself, always, no matter what. i know what to do there. i move easily between spices and oils and vegetables. i can look at a bunch on ingredients and imagine possibilites: i can create things without inordinate effort. it's a free place, a quiet place, and a productive refuge that permits me to create an environment in which the things i most desire--conversations with close friends, shared laughter, "mmmmms" and "yummies"--can be achieved. kitchens are places of inherited and lived love: they are my mom's place and my grandma's place, and my place too. i share it with those i love most, and to me there is just something so special about beating butter and sugar for cookies while you joke with a friend.
i turn to the kitchen for solace. there i beat away my stress with a whisk amidst eggs, and sift through my thoughts as i sift flour through my fingertips. i find joy in the smells of fresh baked goods or sauted veggies. it is my release lately, and though it may not be good for my waistline (or those of my roommates), it's been keeping me sane. and sanity is good i think.

so, if you can't find me these days, don't bother to call. stop by my kitchen and ask what's in the oven. you might even get some.

b

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kitchen dance
(for erik)

there are knives here
and spoons
the smells of onion
cooking in butter
and the spices that are
lined up
along the counter

you are here too.
you dice the peppers
and i watch the pan
we move amidst each other
with an ease well known;
the fruit of daily, well practiced.

we play our roles well here,
and together lay the table with
all kinds
of dishes
and eat.
and afterward at the sink,
our lips meet over the bubbles--
clean aftermath of another kitchen dance.