Posted in ART

The Kitchen

You Don’t Know Where Her Mouth Has Been

Lines Upon Visiting the exhibition for the first time.


weapons of war
at the teet we watch,
pointing at me
I can’t look away.
The blistered conch
split at the seams
empty inside.
Jaws at the ready
or wounds opened dried?
Together they hang
stone’s throw
from each other
like prisoners of war.
Blue roses tightly wound
ready to breathe and hatch
laying still on its small
pedestal for a survivor of antiquity.
Rock candy chandeliers
hanging low
like sagging breasts.
Pink cotton candy
memories on the façade
of sandy days now
measured in glass.
Simple bliss under porcelain
Roses like a crown
A Queen in Sheep’s clothing.
Arms stretched wide
like an ancient
bird lay forgotten
petrified span
of once fruitful wings.
Condor Crystal Crustacean
headless hunter here and now nary a sign
of power or majesty.
Soft and wrinkled
brittle and wasted
What once was
will never now be
but something new shall be formed.


Theatre Maker. Teaching Artist. Student of Life. Poet from way back.

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