the blue flame beneath the kettle
wraps its soft cold light
around the kitchen.
the soft hiss of the gas,
the slant of first sunlight
slung low against
the gold floor.
everywhere there are
reminders of last night:
the bottle of wine,
the roasting pan,
the dishes stacked high in the sink.
the plant needs water,
and your favorite cookbook
seems to have disappeared
beneath the detritus,
beneath the clementine peels
and remaining slice of pie.
the kettle whistles.
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