In That Kitchen - Samantha Boarer

In that kitchen,

With the coffee machine bubbling

And the rich aroma

Slowly coming over me,

So I knew my dad was awake.
The television on quietly

So as not to wake anyone.

In that kitchen,

Where the ceiling was

wood clad,

And matched the many

Cupboards we had and

The table and benches

My Dad had made.

I used to run my finger

Along the grain until

I found a little dip.

I loved the feeling of the

Smooth varnish.

In that kitchen,

Looking out of the window

At the hundreds of

Christmas trees in the back field.

We were always allowed

To take one for ourselves

At Christmas and I sat

At our kitchen table

Where I was allowed a

Sip of wine, even though

I never liked the sour taste

Smarting in my mouth.

I always forgot how

Much it made my throat burn

So I just kept doing it,

In that kitchen.

By Samantha Boarer