In My Kitchen<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
As I put away the butter dish,
\nI see my grandmother buried
\nin the plastic pleats
\nof a bread wrapper.<\/p>\n
She often comes to me unbidden,
\nhidden in a flour tin, caught
\nin a curl of kitchen string, again
\nsome unexpected place,<\/p>\n
again her dark hair with its sifting
\nof ash, braided and twisted into a bun,
\nthe lace collar like a benediction
\non her old crepe dress, each<\/p>\n
appearance a surprise, each ending
\nthe same: she lifts unleavened eyes
\nto mine, rises from her hiding place,
\nand slowly steps into the oven.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cIn My Kitchen\u201d previously appeared in Drash: Northwest Mosaic.<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Joan Moritz has published fiction, nonfiction, and poetry. Born in New York City, Seattle has been her adopted home for nearly 40 years. Her recent work has appeared or is forthcoming in\u00a0Tilt-a-Whirl<\/a>,\u00a0 Blue Lyra,\u00a0<\/em>and Drash: Northwest Mosaic. <\/em><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" In My Kitchen As I put away the butter dish, I see my grandmother buried in the plastic pleats of a bread wrapper. She often comes to me unbidden, hidden in a flour tin, caught in a curl of … Continue reading