I'm aware Easter Sunday means many things to others, even nothing to those who've never heard of it. This year it is the day I've cleaned the entire kitchen - yes, stove, ovens, sinks, benches, cupboard doors. Some feat when you know the whole kitchen is appointed in black. But fitting, as yesterday I cooked up an absolutely yummy frittata with home-grown pumpkin and silver beet and some other veges. Tomorrow, I'm considering a salmon salad. The whole weekend is turning into a kitchen frenzy.
Prompt 22: an "only one of its kind" poem
Hmm. is there anything
unique in this universe?
Not part of, replicated,
reproduced, cloned,
manufactured to clever
design, but one of its kind?
I'd like to pretend my daughter
is unique, my mother, sister,
brother, son - but all of us
are variations on a theme -
the number of times someone
has said, "I'm sure I've met you
before!" Meaning before
this moment, which hadn't
already happened, when
every particle, every person
every multiplied piece was
part of a one-off combination.
Which I couldn't see, only
sense, and the moment
being so momentary, not
knowable, memorable,
nameable, I could guess
the harmonics unrepeatable.
Can I come and live at your place this week? :)
ReplyDelete(Oh, and the poem's fun too.)