Irit – by Anna Kahn

 

She teases her husband and wonders at him,
demands dinner and soaks the pans in the sink
for the morning.

Occasional cook, she fills the dishwasher with swearwords
and the pan with oil and garlic and playful insults,
then wonders why the only Arabic we know is obscene.

She weighs serving bowl against serving bowl,
choosing the best beauty
from a cupboard of beauties decades in the collecting.

She gardens, new gloves and begged advice
now her children have unchilded themselves.
Soon the garlic plants will be ready for the pot.

 

 

 

Anna Kahn is a member of the Roundhouse Collective and is in her second year as a Barbican Young Poet. She lives in London with two cats and one human. By day she works in tech doing something largely inexplicable.