Little Brother Phil getting a hair cut on the kitchen table
At my house growing up, the kitchen was the center of daily activity. It was barely big enough to house a stove, a fridge, a cabinet, and a table. The kitchen was a hum with my mom cooking, canning, or baking. I loved licking chocolate off the spatula and beaters after she mixed up a cake.
In the winter, it became the laundromat, where underwear hung on a wooden rack. like spokes on a wheel. My mom and sister sprinkled clothes from the basement and placed them rolled up into the wicker basket to be ironed. The ironing board was set up in the hallway between rooms with steam hissing all morning long as they pressed the shirts, slacks, and dresses.
Off to the side was the pantry with a large porcelain sink and a tall set of cupboards for storing dry goods. I can still see my father cleaning chickens from our pen in that sink. It was a grand time to be alive.
Sleet strikes window panes
Winter clothes pressed and hanging
Pressure cooker sings
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Photo from the family album
Today on d’Verse, Lillian asked us to write a haibun following the strictly traditional Japanese rules. It includes a short prose reading followed by a haiku that eludes to something seasonal. She asked us to go back in our memory to the house we grew up in and pick a room to write about. I chose our family kitchen.
Come join us at: https://dversepoets.com
