A Room in the Past
It’s a kitchen, its curtains fill
with a morning light as bright
you can’t see beyond its windows
Into the afternoon. A kitchen
falling through time with its things
In their places, the dishes jingling
up in the cupboard, the bucket
of drinking water rippled as if
a truck had just gone past, but that truck
was thirty years. No one’s at home
In this room. Its counter is wiped,
and the dishrag hangs from the nail,
a dry leaf. In housedresses of mist,
blue aprons of rain, my grandmother
moved through this life like a ghost,
and when she had finished her years,
she put them all back in their places
and wiped out the sink, turning her back
on the rest of us, forever.
with a morning light as bright
you can’t see beyond its windows
Into the afternoon. A kitchen
falling through time with its things
In their places, the dishes jingling
up in the cupboard, the bucket
of drinking water rippled as if
a truck had just gone past, but that truck
was thirty years. No one’s at home
In this room. Its counter is wiped,
and the dishrag hangs from the nail,
a dry leaf. In housedresses of mist,
blue aprons of rain, my grandmother
moved through this life like a ghost,
and when she had finished her years,
she put them all back in their places
and wiped out the sink, turning her back
on the rest of us, forever.
-Ted Kooser
Great photo! Love that stove! And oh, the poem --- so homey and so much like my grandmother's kitchen --- down to the bucket of drinking water (she had no running water in her house --- we would drink water out of the water dipper).
ReplyDeleteThanks for the memories.
LaTeaDah
This one is quite special, isn't it? Is the photo (the stove!) yours? It's fabulous.
ReplyDeleteI agree with the poem. It so reminded me of my grandmother. The stove is just a picture. I thought it was perfect for the poem.
ReplyDelete