My Mother's Kitchen

[gretchasketcha]

 Today assignment was to write a poem about your mother's kitchen, which for some reason needed to include something dead. She probably wanted us to write happy cookie poems. So of course I wrote about murder and abuse.

Dead.
He is dead,
the knife sticking
out of his body as
it lies on the floor.

Mother stand there,
hands dripping,
staring down at 
her late
            husband.

Daughter runs into the room,
drawn by the screams,
followed by her own
cry of anguish.

Mother turns,
crying.
She clutches Daughter's arms.

"It's over,
it's over.
We're safe,
he's gone."

They cry and 
run from that
once- comforting 
kitchen.