Words + Images

Two tables reside in Steve’s kitchen.  One rests in the middle of the room, a six to eight people seater in a pinch.  Today its gold pine veneer is bare.  Against the wall, near a large window, is a smaller table covered with a red tablecloth.  On that tabletop rests very many items, including Steve’s pride and joy:  his pepper plant.  Three plants really in a single pot, with one sculpted into a tiny tree.  His bonsai baby.  The pepper’s canopy shades a pot of African violets that are in riotous bloom.  Next to the violets stand a champagne flute filled with cut tea roses long past their prime in shades of white, pink and orange.  They droop, their little heads.  I still find them beautiful, crinkly petals reminding me of an ancient grace, like the  skin of aging women.  In front of the flute squats a golden-hued goblet.  So far it is empty, though I am thinking of filling it with the rose petals.   There are more items on the table:  a white watering can, a pair of scissors (used on the pepper), a spice rack that’s more decorative than functional and a bunny bucket.  The bunny bucket holds Steve’s mail when he is away on trips.  A few books.  Some scattered dirt left by a mouse in love with the pepper plant.  That’s what I see this Sunday morning as I sip my coffee in Steve’s kitchen.