Plight of the Kitchen Poet

By Christina Meade Cohen

Lately I’ve been a kitchen poet
seeing poems in potatoes and so forth.
Needing to keep a pen on the stovetop
to record snatches of thought.

Ever-present toddler at my knees
repeats with gusto
the words I say aloud.
We laugh
at the more preposterous ones.

Crowded in among shopping lists
and everybody’s schedules
my favorite poems hang on the fridge
competing for attention.

Just as satisfying as a well-cooked meal
my gourmet poems.

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