My Mothers Kitchen
dripping tap in an empty sink
passing away the hours
the table where she always sat
naked without a cloth
the stove well used
now forgotten
grown cold with time
white china cups on a dusty shelf
waiting to be filled again
and slowly sipped
a closed door
can't hold back the memories
in my mothers kitchen
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
