Poets and Poems - Scott Owens

Last Supper in the Yellow Kitchen


One had to wonder what Jesus was doing

there in a kitchen so tight white walls

had turned to yellow from smoke and heat

and grease, but there he was, clueless

disciples beside him above the metal

table, red-rimmed, speckled, surrounded

by five wooden chairs with woven seats

and barely enough room to crawl in

between wall and table. He sat

every hour of every day,

palms and eyes upturned (caught

mid roll perhaps) above

bowls of grits and biscuit toast

and four boys with dirty faces,

overlooking a woman who never

sat at the table to eat, and men

who talked of nothing but farming and fishing.

Even years later, returning

long after the last time

anyone stayed for supper, to claim

what little remained, vintage bowl,

hen and rooster salt and pepper

shakers, I see him there, yellowing, otherwise

unchanged, silently waiting to ascend.

[Photo: Scott Owens at one of his favorite haunts, Taste Full Beans Coffeehouse, in Hickory, NC.]