A light on in the kitchen

A light on in the kitchen

For Mom

A woman opens the door

Arms full of groceries

She sets them on the kitchen counter

Along with her keys and jacket and kid's sock and 

A paper cup of melted ice and Diet Coke

She puts on the counter her rolled pizza dough

Hot out of the oven on a threadbare oven mitt

She lets the laughter roll over it

She paints over it, regrets it

She sets her to do lists on the kitchen counter,

Nine since last Thursday

She puts her kids' homework there, 

Their elbows as they sulk over problem #7

She puts her patience there,

Wrapped warm in a blanket, 

Like a loaf of bread to cool,

Sometimes burnt and hot to the touch

She lays her worries there, 

Wondering if it will collapse

She spills the casserole and

Doses the medicine with water beside

She gathers the eggs from the hens,

Cracks them there on the counter,

12 eggs a morning, multiplied by 7,

Equals, multiplied by 54, 

multiplied by what? How many years?

She leans on the counter there and 

Wonders sometimes at night or early in the morning,

"For what?"

That's when she spreads her prayer out there, 

Like a morning offering, like a dusting of flour, 

The light making latticework over the dented counter,

Christening the sacrifice

She wipes the disappointments 

Off the counter with the crumbs

And scoops up her children instead 

To snuggle them, leaning against the counter

She kisses foreheads and her husband on the lips

And welcomes home with her sleeves rolled up

And the counter beams at her all the while

Wondering that the woman ever thought the counter might break

When all she'd given him was a place to call home

And, always, a light on in the kitchen

At the end of the day

— olivia gwyn 

wasteland

Wasteland

I watch a video of everyone stopping to watch a kid play piano in a crowded airport 

And do you ever think it is a miracle 

That any of us got up out of bed

There are a billion and one things 

That could go wrong today 

And nothing to assure us it won’t 

Can you believe we still look at the sky 

And the light on the sheets 

And talk about the new episode of our favorite tv show coming out 

How we look each other in the eye

And don’t forget to say goodbye 

And have guest rooms for people to stay the night 

How we dare to hope we might get better than what we fear we might deserve

For maybe even one more day

And another and after that who knows? 

I watch us all go, smiling,

Fighting our brave little battles

Making all the difference in the world 

We hope for water to flow

Out of the stone, 

On a fool’s errand to find joy in a wasteland

And yet look, again,

There is more than enough 

— olivia gwyn

burial

I get on a plane

To the other side of the world

And something touches me 

On the inside 

When the recording says—

“Be sure to adjust your own mask

Before helping others.”

That we humans saw fit

That we needed this reminder

In case of life or death 

Every time we get on a plane 

While in another plane

Bombs are being dropped on homes

And hospitals full of people 

Just trying to make it another day

Just trying to give their kids

A life in this impossible world

That keeps showing them

Despite their best efforts that

They don’t matter enough 

We watch quiet from our 

White washed coffins

While they dig unmarked graves

For unrecognizable human bodies 

For their friends and sisters and babies

We turn on our white noise fans

In our white walled apartments 

That we are not afraid of burying us alive 

We wash our kids white feet 

And don’t let them see the news

And who do we think we are

That we deserve any better

That we have anywhere to call home

That we have not been left alone 

And who the hell do we think we are

To say they don’t matter enough?

This too is an unmarked grave, 

A death, not worthy of burial

— olivia gwyn