the accident of the kitchen sponge

he held in his hand
a sponge

a very good sponge
shaped square
colored yellow

kept on a shelf
beneath the sink
in the kitchen

he applied
an edge
just an edge
to an overflow

an accidental spillage
of coffee
sloshed from his cup
to the table

he was careless

the sponge
did its work
a magic
of absorption

from the table
into the edge
that was the sponge

by accident
so it seemed
he moved the sponge
a small distance

centred it
over the spill

where it worked
sponge magic

an absorption

a drip
at the end of a tap
in the laundry

the glass
that held jonquils
so yellow
so bright

suddenly dry
a pool outside
left behind
by the rain
was smaller

was gone

the tremulous note
in the call of the frogs
at the creek
more strident

a cloud
drifted the sky
billowed cumulus
into cirrus transparency


and the sponge
seeming unable
to quite hold the last liquid drops
of the spillage
of coffee

grew larger



Poem #325 from a series of poems drawn from the imagination and collected as: a Bachelard reverie.

Back to Bachelard and me – Introduction

6 thoughts on “the accident of the kitchen sponge

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