I can’t remember when I wrote this, but it’s from around 1998.


Brick-red eggs stand in line

On grey crown cups.

Earthenware pots glare outwards.

Boxes nestle

Cardboard on cardboard.

Spoons lie icy.

Our faces distort

In the harsh light

Fighting through the cracked glass.

Mist turns to dust.

There we learn our grains and wheat

Mix our oats.

The smooth white liquid

Rattles in our throats.

About beckydeans

I've always been a writer one way or the other.
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2 Responses to Pantry

  1. That is strangely … sexual … or am I just weird 😦 It reminds me of some kind of secret assignation, or a love letter written in code

    • beckydeans says:

      I believe it’s a still life set in Wordsworth’s pantry, though I may have been thinking about servants at the time. All my love letters are written in code. 🙂 Thank you for commenting and retweeting, Steve.

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