seven words

She backed her knife’s momentum with her memories

and swamped the kitchen with the clatter of a

television set droning,

Which reminded her of The Now,

and familiar voices that rebounded

off the edges of her brain into the air.

These stories—The Old, as she called it—were

delicately garnished over her freshly-cooked pancit

like the juice of a Filipino orange.

A bucket of auspicious promises and tribulations

was pouring its insides out from her head to her hands,

decanting some nostalgia

onto the savory juices of burnt garlic and yellow onions,

patis and soy sauce,

yesterday’s jasmine rice sautéed with eggs and tomatoes.

But the housefly didn’t mind it;

(was there something he missed?)—

his saliva spilled waterfalls and his mind

digressed, dumb over his five "human” senses.

But can you really blame him?

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I had to write this poem for my Beginning Poetry Writing class. We had to write a poem with the following words: momentum, clatter, edge, delicate, orange, bucket, and housefly.