�

In my kitchen I can make white things turn brown

I can make flat things rise

I can create the sun, the moon and the stars

In cookie cutter shapes

In my kitchen there is a warmth that is not just the oven

A wholeness that is not just the bread

The rising feeling of elliptical time

Creation and destruction and washing clean

In my kitchen there is a dark, deep cupboard

Where mystery articles of unknown

Origin, lurk, waiting for retribution

A rebirth by fire

In my kitchen there is the smell of family

Ageless dinners of local history

Shiny steel pots and sharp

Useful knives

In my kitchen there is an old green table

Four rickety chairs and

A big round fruit bowl

Filled with hopes of wellbeing

In my kitchen there are sighs and laughter

There is sweet and sour

Robust explosions of colour

In people and curtains and towels

In my kitchen there is the memory

Of my grandmother

Her shortbread, her pie

Her unexpected gifts to me

In my kitchen I am the empress

Mistress of all I survey

And yet still in the hands

Of destiny � will it burn, will it blossom?

In my kitchen no-one goes hungry