Musing on a Kitchen Table
It stands, unassuming—
wood worn soft, like driftwood
polished by the tide of years.
Morning light pours like honey,
butter-yellow and smooth as wax,
while shadows seep in its grooves.
Here, a chipped mug holds its breath,
a vase patched together leans like a tired tree.
Arguments break like waves,
but apologies settle soft as dust.
Laughter curls like steam,
and crumbs scatter like seeds.
It holds the weight of silence,
steady as earth, and whispers:
everything belongs.
© Peter A. Witt
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| Peter A. Witt |
Peter A. Witt is a Texas poet and a recovering academic, who lost his adjectives in the doldrums of academic writing. Poetry has helped him recover his ability to see and describe the inner and outer world he inhabits. His work has been twice nominated for Best of the Net. He also writes family history, and is an avid birder and wildlife photographer.
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