Poetry About Complaining

All morning I condemn the kitchen door. Its rusty hinge replies to every complaint. By noon, the whole house knows my irritation. A drop of oil waits quietly in the drawer. Some troubles ask to be named aloud. Some ask for hands to finish the sentence.

Return once more to the exact detail. Its rusty hinge replies to every complaint. Its silence contains more than we expected. Some troubles ask to be named aloud. Careful seeing becomes its own reply. Some ask for hands to finish the sentence.

All morning I condemn the kitchen door. Hours pass, but the image does not leave. By noon, the whole house knows my irritation. It returns us to frustration, repetition, listening, small grievances, honest needs, and the choice to act. Some troubles ask to be named aloud. The day continues with a more attentive heart.