Dawning Creations

This kitchen is old,
one hundred years old to be accurate.
Everyone is out and I am left alone here, sick.
The silence is appreciated.
My throat throbs viciously when I try to speak.
I’ve been annoyed with the sounds of my hacking
and everyone trying to ask me how I’m feeling.
I don’t want to talk.
It hurts.
When they went out, I was relieved.

I sip my tea and honey
and stir the pasta on the stove.
I fill the tea kettle
and begin to boil the water.

Silence starts to fade away
as new sounds begin to reverberate off of the walls.

The melodic voice of David Bowie
swirls around the room.
His voice is pleasantly joined by the
whistling of the tea kettle
and bubbling pasta.

These odd noises fill the empty air
and I don’t want to sing along.
I’m taking in these sounds,
and have no desire to corrupt them with my voice.

They would be allusive
had I not known what made them.
I treasure that.
This kitchen is old,
one hundred years old to be accurate.

One of it’s many charms
is it’s age and it’s echoic properties.