Rachel Sills

Kitchen Couplets

 

 

pinked in by fowlers just plonked

in a vase anyhow

 

& over on a fly-leaf table of such

exquisite Morten-Harketry

 

there are peonies in a

state of droop

 

the buds represent of little mouths

unsullied by fists

 

or symbolise something more pouty

& raw can you feel

 

the closed cap of the cervix it is

like a soft light-switch  

 

the upholstery reeks it’s embedded

with quaint dust

 

the kind of powdered discharge left

too long on the cushions

 

where Pipit sate in a ladder-back

chair at some remove

 

at the home birth group

I sat like a severe egg

 

li’l leekies consomméd in bulbous fired pots

painted with naïf onions

 

slightly masculate in their thrusting

leaf-stems against speckle

 

this beefy pottery rips me up guy

esp when windfalls are put in

 

So. There is “jam” on the tablecloth now-then

& it’s homemade with a jelly bag & all

 

there being more to these jelliform semi-fluids

than a long luteal phase

 

like pastry-making at the advanced end

dipping a finger in to taste

 

it wrinkles at the setting point – the colder

the saucer the more the sauce are

 

teabags, bletting & blessings on your house

I have that striped door curtain too.

 

Two fertile/febrile frond-heads

baked in a pie

 

over by the butcher’s block I am

cabbaging my emotions

 

& at the centre is the heart which is super

sweet if left intact or lacerated

 

she is like to pickle it overnight in vinegar

which turns the veins purple

 

the pinny wraps round in little ruffles

& opens like flowering

 

send me rice from Kenya please for my stock

cupboards, for the pretty burlap bags

                                                                                 

a brilliant life wrapped & cling-filmed

I have onions for eyeballs

 

(o my vision sliced like boiled eggs

on the sprung mandoline).

 

Slip a liner beneath that pear. It will

bruise to a shine

 

I give beneath finger pressure & these

peas won’t shuck themselves

Rachel Sills is the author of two chapbooks,Two Hundred Houses (Knives Forks and Spoons Press) and Endless/Nameless, co-written with Richard Barrett (Red Ceilings Press). Recent work has appeared in Blackbox Manifold, Shearsman Magazine and Datableed.  She is a co-organiser of the Manchester-based reading series, Peter Barlow's Cigarette.

© 2018 Colin Herd and all the individual poets

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