From his point


The kitchen is hers
and the stove is hers, as it is warm,  
for the warmth comes from her,
from her womb that grew the child,
who is hers,
though the seeds in his sac
were his.
As his are the boots and the axe
that cuts the wood into logs
which she burns in her stove.
The tea that he drinks
is his
unless it is drunk in the kitchen
that is hers
and therefore, not his when
he’s cooking the steak
that is his
which is tough and fibrous,
rather than soft and pliable 
like the child,
who won’t stop whining
in the ear
that is his
Though its hunger belongs to her,
as does the bed and the dresser and the mirror,
but the hammer and saw
and the house he built
he guesses are his,
for he wanted them in a safe place,
where bad things would not enter
like the illness of other people
who were not his,
only the ache
he carries in his belly
of the many mixed emotions
of loving her from the start
when being sucked into a fire pit
and falling right into it
and all he knows that the burn was his,
this blaze of the woman
bent now in the garden
to smell the coriander,
as though she does not know
his head is split
with hating her
and loving her
because she is an ache and a kink and also
the furrow, the groove and the rut
and birth and death and peace and strife
and no, it is not easy
though he’d go on and live life.

© Yutka 2023
Views: 672
critique and comments welcome.
Notify of
Inline Feedbacks
View all comments

It’s difficult to find words to do justice to this; it is – as usual a delight to read, but also, it questions so much in a couples relationship; we can love and hate all at once; but I thought she had the full ownership – what was hers, and maybe he knows that?



The border line between love and hate is almost infinite: like a razor’s edge, some say. Here you cleverly put to the reader the incongruity of ‘possession’ in relationships by reflecting back and forth from those opposing faces. Brilliantly written if I may say so. A pleasure to read.


Like Dodge, it so hard to find words. All I can say is, it gave me a shiver down my spine –it’s that good.


From a humble writer to an excellent poet:
You are too kind 🙂

I find this poem truly stunning. Each time I read it I get that shiver of recognition of my own past emotions.


Excellent. It’s a ten on ten from me.

Last edited 1 year ago by supratik

Read and read this, each time and I am not sure with intent, but it is timeless. I see my Grandparents, parents, myself, the others.

Be it the I think intertwined metaphor’s with truth, or just the raw earthiness gave this a energy of good and bad, unity and separation.

Well done. I still need to read it many times more.

Flag Content