Into the Kitchen

The kitchen is small,

Cold,

Evil.

The back door lets the kitchen freeze.

Tile floors hold the anger of the past,

Old arguments long forgotten,

Spills from overfilled cups,

Tiny glass shards left from a broken face.

Cabinets join in with their hidden secrets,

An overfill of medicine,

Too many blue boxes of pasta,

Spices overflow onto the counter and on top of the fridge.

The sink fills with undone dishes left from the week’s meals.

And what looks like a mess soon transforms into a studio.

Where artists can paint, write, sing, or dance.

Where the chef can cook,

As they try not to burn the food.

Soon the once cold floor lights up to the sound of music.

The smell of brownies baking fills the air,

As the kitchen becomes vibrant.

And as quickly as the kitchen comes alive it can become,

Overshadowed.

Blurred eyes,

Muffled yelling,

The smell of anger and rage lingers in the air.

The kitchen becomes a court room,

With only one person on trial.

Beat by the words of one voice.

The kitchen becomes the electric chair.

Once a homey room that brought joy,

Now ruined by dim lights,

And loud brothers.