HOME / poem: A weekly poem, read by the author.

My Mother's Old Kitchen

By Joyce E. PeseroffPosted Tuesday, Aug. 19, 2003, at 11:33 AM ET

Listen to Joyce Peseroff reading this poem.

The rooms through which EMTs
carried my father
clang! into eternity

contain not a single object
I cherished in childhood.
A thousand miles from it,

strange with egrets,
palm trees and humidity,
my parents retired to

exclusive happiness, taking
a porcelain lamp,
a bookcase. No room

for the sofa where I'd teased
Ann's boyfriend, or chandelier
whose wooden beads

I'd told, numb, numberless
dinnertimes. Someone is clarifying
ghee or steaming pierogis

in my mother's old kitchen,
humming a song about the moon
moving, always moving on.

Print This ArticlePRINTEmail to a FriendE-MAILShare This ArticleRECOMMEND...Get Slate RSS FeedsRSS
Joyce Peseroff's third book of poems is Mortal Education.
Click here to visit Robert Pinsky's Favorite Poem Project site.


To submit poetry to Slate, send up to five poems and a self-addressed, stamped envelope to: Robert Pinsky, Slate Magazine, Boston University, 236 Bay State Road, Boston, MA, 02215.
What did you think of this article?
Join The Fray: Our Reader Discussion Forum
POST A MESSAGE | READ MESSAGES
JFK.TODAY'S PICTURES: JFK.
Cartoonists' take on the auto industry.TODAY'S CARTOONS: Cartoonists' take on the auto industry.
Wea culpa.TODAY'S DOONESBURY: Wea culpa.
Washington Post
The Washington Post
OPINIONS
Obama's New Church
Sally Quinn | Where will he worship? My vote is for National Cathedral, a place that transcends political and religious divisions.