Word Sketch


To stand in the corner of the kitchen while the patchwork breakfast warms, snaps and pops, is to reach into the day wondering between the branches, scrambled and prickly, stretched and crossed under and over each other like the yolks and whites forming in the skillet.

The street light still on, yellows a piece of sky among the blue-silver and rose. The day is changing as the clouds drift east, and the steam and spice rise from the stove.

1 Comment

Have a comment or reply?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s