Sep 13
wondering about rain's picture

The Kitchen

She stares into the lit flame
that peeks out under
a metal prison.
Behind bars only a quiet roar.

Does it remind her of
the flickering candles she
lights for those she loves
or, does it reflect
what shines in her own eyes,
contained by her own
fabricated cage.

A woman's place,
by the flame tending the
beast only fitting
because she oh like a raging
fire feels the kinship best felt
by the stove, a secret
love affair.

The kitchen she makes
into her own jungle,
the slash of a vibrant plant
always peeking out somewhere.

It's empty now, the candles
have been blown out
and the caged fire unfed.
A man walks in and sits in
the empty chair, only
to stare at the
stove and wilted plant
no one ever had
the heart to move.