Twelve : Kitchen Nymph

When I first met Grace three years ago, I wrote an assignment titled “Kitchen Nymph”. I’m going to just leave this here, because, although she’s gone, I still love this piece.

Kitchen Nymph – Andrew Rolleston, March 17, 2011

Long golden hair twists and ties into itself as it falls heavily on her shoulders and down, down, down to her chest. Her smile half fixed into some wicked permanent grin, her eyes narrow, then widen slightly, showing the horse head nebulae hidden beneath her lids; first spring sky blue, a thin yellow fringe, then a sudden outward burst of dark green and blue dancing together to the tips of her eyes. She stands upright, her wide hips making her red floral summer dress drape wonderfully down her slender body. She stands five foot something, confidently, as if to challenge the world around her, “come on, try it” her stance shouts triumphantly. The worn brown cowboy boots heel step, click, heel step click as she strides around the kitchen, covering the pale skin of her thin legs, which carry her from cupboard to cabinet. She collects her supplies zealously; green cutting board, stainless steel bench scraper, four quart mixing bowl, bright yellow and green rubber whisk, flour, sugar, eggs, cream, butter. She has all this wrapped in one fragile arm, treacherously stacked and balanced as she bends low, or stretches high, standing on the tips of her tiny toes to reach something new, baking powder, baking soda, dried cranberries, chocolate chips. She sets the items down with a heavy sounding thud onto the cold tile counter top and slowly turns on the sink, all hot, then adjusts it, fidgeting with the cold water dial; Rinse, soap, lather, rinse, dry. She turns, the dress fanning around, hugging her form, then springing back again, hugging her, back again, and grabs the yellow kettle, swings back around, hug, swish, fills it with water, kills the sink, hug, swish, the burner turns to high heat with a satisfying click.

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