Draft in the author’s style. This poem was written for Poet of Bedtime Hush to sit beside the author’s own readings, and is waiting for the author’s review. The commentary is a working draft too.
At midnight in the kitchen where the fridge hums soft and low,
I poured a glass of warm milk in the amber lamp's glow.
The clock ticked out its patient beat above the bread bin's lid,
And every crumb and cup seemed still as the sleeping cupboards did.
I stirred a spoon of honey in and watched it swirl and sink,
Like a golden thought inside my head that made me stop and think.
Of the noise of all the daytime and the rush of every task,
Of the answers that I wanted and the questions I could not ask.
But the steam that curled above the cup said, let them all go by,
For the morning has its own kind light and the dark its own lullaby.
I sipped the sweetness slowly with my slippers on the floor,
And felt the weight of wakefulness slide gently out the door.
I rinsed the cup and turned the light and padded down the hall,
A little kitchen magic is a mercy after all.
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Commentary
A small ritual, a glass of warm milk in a quiet kitchen, carries the whole poem. The everyday objects, the fridge, the clock and the spoon, turn a wakeful hour into a peaceful one.
At midnight, “the fridge hums soft and low” while the speaker pours “a glass of warm milk” in “the amber lamp’s glow.” The clock ticks “above the bread bin’s lid,” and a spoon of honey swirls “like a golden thought inside my head.”
The honey makes the speaker think of “the noise of all the daytime” and “the questions I could not ask.” The steam tells them to “let them all go by,” and after sipping slowly, “the weight of wakefulness” slides “out the door.” The speaker pads down the hall, sure that “a little kitchen magic is a mercy after all.”