In the Kitchen

The kitchen is a witness.
It sees mornings begin
with quick bowls of cereal,
and evenings end
with plates piled high,
waiting to be washed clean.

The fridge keeps the record—
drawings in crayon,
photos held by magnets,
notes that curl at the edges.
Each one tells a piece of the story.

The kettle speaks through steam.
The pots show their dents,
each scratch a memory
of meals shared and fights survived.

The mixer stands strong,
steady through birthdays and holidays,
holding the weight of celebration.

At night, when the lights go out,
the kitchen stays.
It keeps every sound,
every smell, every mark—
a silent witness
to the life lived here.