IN MY KITCHEN. . .

by Antonis Katsouris

On the door of my refrigerator colored
magnetic letters form once again
Robert Indiana’s LOVE.

*

Cress, curry, coriander
and oregano, salt, and white pepper,
chili, clove and cinnamon.

*

With the coffee filters, the ashes,
the withered flowers, I throw in the trash
your farewell letter too.

*

On the fried breakfast egg,
my yellow heart, and all around my
slightly burnt white fate. . .

*

And Mary, who is drunk again, fixes
her lipstick while holding the kitchen knife
as a real mirror.

*

I look again for something to cook for us
at Betty Crocker’s recipe book “Just the Two of Us”
and I expect you for dinner. . .

*

And the faucet is leaking and leaking
to remind me of the small repairs
that I need to make in my life. . .

*

I look at the dirty dishes of our failed
tête-à-tête … For the last time, I say to myself,
before I begin to wash them. . .

*

The housewife’s vanity;
to rise to the occasion, wearing
my favorite apron.

*

On the table a still life with fruit,
flowers and two magazines to remind me of
Wolfgang Tillmans; or, perhaps, Jack Pierson?

*

I place two ice cubes into your drink
and I melt as they melt thinking of you
in the next room…

*

I’m looking at my collection of
twelve different plates and I think
I’ve found the most beautiful…

*

(in my kitchen
I always know
who I am. . .)

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