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Clay pottery with table linens_edited.jpg

The kitchen

—Stephen Brown

The kitchen

the cabinets were an acid green

for as long as I can


My father made

coffee in an old

percolator, telling me

I was too young

to drink it,

as if it were magic -

it wasn’t. The pungent

smell persisted into

the stale dusk.

My mother listened

to the radio.

My father drummed

his fingers on

the table, coffee going

cold in his cup.

Whole nights

went by when

I forgot to breathe.


S.D. BROWN lives in Dorset, England. He writes poetry, short stories and novellas. He has had work published in Acclaim, Platform for Prose, The Fortnightly Review, Vine Leaves Press, Litro Publishing and The Orchard Poetry Journal.

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