Yellow flower wallpaper,
A rusted white stove,
A refrigerator that never seems to be clean,
(Yet we know thats not true)
A small kitchen table
With green chairs.
A metal sink and
Wooden cabinets.
This is the kitchen we,
My siblings,
Call “My Mothers Kitchen.”
She, on the other hand, thinks its borrowed.
Her kitchen is one that does not exist.
Its a large kitchen, with a new stove,
Large refrigerator,
Multiple ovens,
A big sink.
The walls are dark green
In this kitchen of hers.
This kitchen that does not exist.
Its a shame she does not accept
The kitchen that we have
As her own.
So many birthdays cakes baked in this oven,
So many Thanksgiving dinners cooked on this stove,
So many dishes washed in this sink
And homework done on this table.
“My Mothers Kitchen” my siblings and I call it.
But to my mother its a kitchen,
A borrowed kitchen,
Not the one that should belong to her.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem