Nothing In Particular (2) by Angela Thomas You stood in the kitchen, a crook in your back, waving a spatula while you spoke about nothing in particular. 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 onto my plate, from the front pan, crisp and red, not a hint of char. The toast popped up. Two out of three slices found their way to my plate. I reached my hand out like I was ready to receive a baton in a relay, instead it was breakfast. I sat down on a creaky chair, my plate on a grotty table, and had to pause - here was my plate, everything placed like a painting 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. 02/28/2004 Author's Note: revision. Posted on 02/28/2004 Copyright © 2024 Angela Thomas Member Comments on this Poem Posted by Shannon McEwen on 10/11/11 at 05:38 AM I love this, can see why it's poem of the day - love to me is the images you describe here, not the "fireworks". Posted by Mo Couts on 10/11/11 at 03:12 PM Ahhh, I love this. It's so real and honest; very much everything that love should be and is when it's true. Nicely done, and congrats on poem of the day! 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)