In the Kitchen

I remember the crowded space,

the clanging of trays and plates.

The people bustling by,

A case of serve or die.

I remember how the supply

Of soup containers dwindled,

And the box, sitting up high,

Holding the needed utensils.

I remember how I could not reach,

And tried to ask for help.

I remember I had to climb

High up on the self.

I remember stretching far,

And reaching to the sky.

I slowly slide the box toward me,

When suddenly,

I remember below my waist

I felt a tightening grip.

I remember my pounding heart,

As from my hands the box began to slip

I remember my sweating palms,

And my balance almost lost.

I remember the spinning room,

As I tried climbing down,

I remember turning swift,

To take a look around.

I remember the ally full,

With no one standing near.

But most of all what I remember,

Is the ever gnawing fear.

And now when I reach for boxes high,

Or climb up on a shelf,

I remember to watch for hands,

That grope about with stealth.

PC: Kenny Luo via unsplash

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