The Kitchen

green jelly in a fine crystal dish
salt and pepper shakers in the form of colorful roosters
on a polka-dotted table cloth
cream-filled doughnuts from the bakery down the street
and porcelain trinkets as far as the eye can see
kitty-cat clock on the wall with emerald green eyes
tail swinging side-to-side, counting the seconds of silence
chemical scent of Lysol with just a hint
of the apple-cinnamon room spray that is her trademark
no crumbs, no smudges
this is her sacred room
where she will spend her remaining days baking, cooking, cleaning
cooking, baking, cleaning...
mopping with citrus-scented Spic 'n Span
washing the same dishes time and again with blue Dawn dish soap
because it cuts through grease and leaves her hands soft
just like the commercial says
visitors admire her clean, white surfaces and lace-trimmed dish towels,
and how they can see their reflections in the linoleum
they wish they had the time to keep their kitchens this spotless
but confess to themselves that if they did have the time,
they would likely spend it doing something else

days, months, even years pass by
as if caught in a science-fictional time warp,
her kitchen remains exactly the same
her visitors however, become fewer and fewer...
until there is only the grocery delivery boy left
bringing the neatly-filled brown paper sacks to her kitchen door
every Thursday at 1pm
he smiles politely and accepts the glass of orange juice and fresh-baked cookie
because he knows his hostess won't take "no" for an answer
sitting in the breakfast nook they chat about the weather
while he sips the tangy, pulp-filled juice
that's likely to be his only souce of Vitamin C for the day
as she launches into neighborhood gossip he gobbles the rest of the cookie,
drains the last few drops of OJ, and rises to leave

he doesn't know it but this is the last delivery he'll make here
the last time he'll step foot in this clean, sunny room
and see the old woman's welcoming smile and friendly eyes
in the years to come he'll most remember her sturdy but
soft-as-satin, wrinkled hands folded on the table
though her husband had long since passed
she always wore her wedding set, along with a couple of jeweled rings
permanently anchored in place and guarded by swollen knuckles
the freckles and age spots somehow made her appear very wise
and she was -
as wise as she was kind
no, the delivery boy will never forget those hands
or the smell of that kitchen
and he'll wish he had stayed on occasion for a second glass of juice ~

Copyright ©2009 Angela Schofield