behind each cabinet door
and in every kitchen drawer,
    my mother waits.
in ladles and gravy boats,
in butter dishes and silver serving spoons,
    she holds space and time
    – mine –
since she left me behind,
with only tea towels to dry my tears
and old tupperware to hold
my kitchentable memories
    of her.  

her kitchen was a castle.
mine is merely a time capsule              
    to recall her love.