Sunday, November 22, 2009
THE ONLY DARK THING IN THE KITCHEN
The bonnet, hidden for so long, is the only dark thing in my kitchen at night, denser than the washed-looking sky outside, which is made glossy by our French doors. All the appliances, the refrigerator, dishwasher, stove, look insubstantial, as if they could float away. Even the tile floor and back splash appear lacy compared to the bonnet. A dark wood apothecary cabinet that once stood in my grandmother's attic, full of souvenirs she picked up in her days as a Quaker missionary and now containing china and silver, is lightened by grain and sheen.
The bonnet is a presence. Its shape is complex, neatly engineered. It refers only to itself, like an unexpected rock formation in a desert. If I looked at it long enough, it might tell me something.