Three Courses by WK 03/05/2013

Illustration by Forsyth Harmon
Piece by Annie-Rose Harrison-Dunn



 

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The Horrors–Still Life
 
I. Soul Food
 
This bubbling stew pot is my attempt to mend us, for what we need is soul food. We have misplaced our soul. We think this happened around the same time we stopped eating together at our dinner table. Our table, carried from house to house to this our present nest, is made of a solid English oak that promised longevity. It is scratched and marked with felt-tip pen of nearly forgotten homework assignments after dinner. This is a table to be used but we have neglected it and let the room get cold like an outhouse.
 
My soul food will drag it back to the core and sooth our nerves. Sooth my nerves because I will have something to do with my hands, some sort of distraction from the anarchy of our soullessness. You will set the table, he will light the candles, our visitor will wait and sit and tell us stories that will make us laugh and make you glow, again. We will have our roles and each will sigh in relief when we feel that soul food warmth in our bellies returning to us a little bit of our togetherness again.
 

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Tame Impala–Nothing That Has Happened So Far Has Been Anything We Could Control
 
II. Onions and Pride
 
I am being helpful. I am trying to be helpful. I am being spiteful. This is a last truth I try to squish down out of sight as I chop the onions just a little bit thicker than she asked me to because I think it’s better to have a chunky consistency and because I think they will burn if too different in size from the rest of the ingredients. This is not just a meal but a girlish tantrum for one and a woman’s statement of leadership for the other.
 
She who feeds us cares the most, she who feeds us proves permanent. We edge around each other with tight lipped smiles and curt words punctuated with Ps and Qs because this is a small kitchen and really there is only room for one of us. At best the second could be delegated sous chef, or pot wash even, but that would be a defeat since second in command is hardly anything at all. This is all or nothing and besides I was here first dancing on my father’s feet and singing “everything can be replaced, yet every distance is not near.”
 

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Metronomy–Everything Goes My Way
 
III. Kitchen Lovers
 
It has been six weeks since we have seen each other, and we head directly to the… kitchen. Laden with shopping bags we unload the tagliatelle, rocket leaves, butternut squash, feta cheese. You glug out the red wine into glasses and turn on the stereo, scroll through songs to find a familiar tune. Then we sink into our familiar mood: arms wrapped round from behind and chopping roughly. A wooden board of colour and smell. I take handfuls and create a rough perfection that will make us sink down at our dinner table and ummm in harmony. Cooking our compatibility, we smile at what we have created.
 
 
 

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