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Juxtaposition In the kitchen: On the table, a bowl of salad greens. On a platter, half a leg of lamb. Gravy in a boat and rice wait, Cooling in a container. Silver mint jelly dish is empty, oven snaps as it cools. Winter’s afternoon sun Shines palely through the frosted window. Clock reads 2:45. Le Patron walks into the kitchen, Says, “Turn on your radio.” Radio: Living room. Mahogany, fine grade of burl rich tones. Guests clustered about, heads bent, listening silently. Radio: Living room. Arch shaped, stained cherry set on marble counter yellowed dial, numbers difficult to read. Volume turned up, servants sit at table. “…been reports out of Hawaii at this time unconfirmed, that there has been an attack by the Japanese upon Pearl Harbor…” In the living-room: angry voices rise in shock and speculation. Conversations start, are punctuated by silences: Guests listen to brief updates. Fear, Anger, Sorrow, have invaded. Complacency is dead. Living room seems cold and shadowed. In the kitchen: Servants listen in silence. “Echo,” the cook finally speaks. “The death of the tyrant of Paris is begun. Liberty will walk her streets again.” Cook rises, changes the station. A swing band is playing. Relief and Joy have invaded. Hope is finally re-born. Kitchen seems warm and cozy. |
Additional Notes:
Assignment: Write a poem about your mother's kitchen. There must be something green, the word oven, something dead, and there is to be no "I" in the poem.
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