nothing inparticular by Angela Thomas You stood in the kitchen, a crook in your back, waving a spatula while you spoke about nothing inparticular. The eggs slid off the pan into two groups, broken and whole, you took the bits and pieces, giving me the rest. You flipped the bacon - the pan on the back burner was filled with blackened strips of pork. The bacon on my plate was from the front pan, crisp and red, not a hint of char. The toast popped up and out of the three, two, not one, slices found their way to my plate. I reached my hand out like I was ready to recieve a baton in a relay, instead it was breakfast. I sat down on a creaky chair, my plate on a grody table, and had to pause, here was my plate, everything placed precisely, so that it looked like a picture someone must have painted a very long time ago because they wanted to remember just what kindness looked like when it was served to you on a plate. 02/23/2004 Posted on 02/23/2004 Copyright © 2024 Angela Thomas Return to the Previous Page   pathetic.org Version 7.3.2 May 2004 Terms and Conditions of Use 0 member(s) and 2 visitor(s) online All works Copyright © 2024 their respective authors. Page Generated In 0 Second(s)