What Matters

 

A Twenty Minutes poem.

What Matters

 

Mismatched chairs and table
appeal to a certain eye
a certain person
and then there are those
who buy the seven piece dinette set
and live in contentment
forever
But no one will be happy
with any kind of table
serving up meals of
half-baked chicken
scorched soup
and hard undercooked rice
necessitating a trip to the dentist
I don’t care what kind of table you have.

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Apartment kitchen.

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15 thoughts on “What Matters

  1. And the most mysterious of all are those people who spend six months salary on a state of the art hi tech stainless steel and exotic wood essence self-timing igniting cleaning and anticipating kitchen work station or whatever they are called and only ever eat GRATED CARROT.

    • Thank you. I was thinking back to a very old memory of 35 years ago or more, when a boyfriend of one of my roommates made us dinner with rice and undercooked it. Severely. My friends ate it anyway but I couldn’t face it and so I left it on my plate, and I am sure he noticed, and I still feel bad about it even now, but – I just couldn’t eat the rice…

      • Oh no really! You have a great memory, I don’t think I could force bad food down either, but hopefully that person doesn’t have a good memory of that moment. Love your stories!

      • My roommate broke up with him not too much later so it didn’t happen again. And I don’t think he really noticed, or maybe he thought I just didn’t like rice, but my roomates sure noticed and told me off, but I still think – why must I eat food that is inedible just to be polite? At least I didn’t TELL him, right?!!!

  2. I love this poem. To me it suggests something I have been thinking since leaving almost all our material possessions behind and starting from scratch and that is that it is never things that make a house feel like home but the feelings and memories created in the place.

    • Yes, and I think that slowly the possessions take on the emotions of the home again. It is a time thing. But in the end, it is true that home is where the “heart” is, for a person, I think.

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