The Kitchen Counter

The Kitchen Counter

Everyday you must wipe it clean,
clear the crumbs and little puddles
speckling the counter like birthmarks.

The counter holds dishes and glasses,
bags of flour exhaling dust, jars of jam
and honey that drool strawberry and amber

onto the tile, the marble, the even face
of the counter. You stand before it,
arms bent, hands flat against its cool lines

as a pianist touches the smooth keys
waiting before her. Glasses so clean
they seem painted onto air, and gleaming

plates weighed down in anticipation
of your need. The counter meets you
at arm-level. Partnering happens here,

the counter, your hands working together
to craft the temporary sculptures of meals,
then sponging away the contact, the process.