The Kitchen Table

A poem I wrote using headlines from newspapers and inspiration

The Kitchen Table


A novelist’s world is not based in reality

It’s a rousing tale

Though not one wedded in accuracy

But she doesn’t mind

That she can’t see the girl from a naked eye


The coffee pot simmers

Charcoal steam bewitching her senses

The pen dreams lazily on the paper

Stained from many songs of dragons and damsels in distress


Murky words sail far beyond her kitchen table

Her mind draws blinds over her window

Her napkins are mountains

Stained with coffee rivers

Crumbs of mountain goats crumble down the ledges of her fork

She hasn’t noticed the mug is slipping from her fingertips


But when it crashes to the floor

An avalanche down her page

Words are like twins

Born identical, grown fraternal

As the reality breaks again. 

The End

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