pantry

She never let anyone go into the pantry

fearful of what they might find on the shelves

laying haphazardly between the cinnamon and cumin…

the sounds of her muffled cries

broken heart tossed behind 5lbs of sugar

spilling over, not sweetening it, but hardening it

syrup poured over lies don’t make them sweet,

just make them more sticky than normal

as if lies have opportunity to be anything other than sticky

no, she never let anyone go into the pantry

for it was in the kitchen, always the kitchen

“the center of the home” he said

where he sought to defile her center

where his fists punched into her body

as though she were dough & he was preparing it for cooking

the kitchen….where love gathered

cowering in corners, trying to save itself

becoming a shredded mess inside of wrap made of fear

coughing as he peppered her body with spoiled spice of his own

a toxic form of black pepper coating her skin like paprika

adding nothing to delicacy that is her….

no, she never let anyone go into the pantry….

Copyright 2006 ~ Jackie Young

** I know. It’s not “Wordplay Wednesday”. True. But I’m tired. Still feeling a bit under the weather. Ok, and a wee bit lazy. Had one of those late-night, three hour phone calls with a friend who could have talked longer & would have had I not said, “Um, you do know we can continue this call tomorrow?”. Oh, and in case YOU are wondering, no - it wasn’t as enlightening as our ‘conversation’. Anywho, I’m heading back to bed. Happy Tuesday! **