Sometimes I hide in the kitchen, in all my glory and grime, with brittle nails and broken eggs…
Disguised at the sink until I become a buoy– keeping life afloat like bits of food that rise up in my soaking pots.
Feeling both nourished and starved, I long for recipes and days off.
My sanctuary at dawn and a laboratory in the evening…
Sometimes I hide in the kitchen, and with water running, I catch myself staring into Nothingness.
Then little people surround me with their special requests and I begin to count my blessings.
Sometimes I hide in the kitchen with a lonely wistfulness and the smell of old wood, which seems to comfort me somehow.
My keurig revving up like a foghorn, it hums and I hear the song of Myself.
With my back turned, I am a mystery to the world, in soft lighting.
I remain in the background, stirring stews and pleasuring pans.
Keeping busy, steady running the water…because if I slow down– if I open up my heart– the eggs will break again.
Sometimes I hide in the kitchen, waiting on serendipity…waiting on something beautiful…waiting on something magical…
Clinnesha is a writer, wife, mom, meta-artist, and social entrepreneur who feels most accountable to southern, black citizen-artists, elders, children, and families. Her work is at the intersection of arts, culture, innovation, and community.