This Spot

There’s this spot in the kitchen, right next to the door. A little wooden foot stool sits next to the doorway. I’ve sat in this spot for 5 years. The spot that was my kitchen nursing area. The spot that was my seat to play next to my baby while I cooked. The spot where I’ve watched people coming and going, dancing, drinking, kissing, hugging, fighting, crying, contemplating, pacing and growing. This spot has been my way of knowing the men were home for dinner. My way of knowing how many teenagers, roughly, we’re about to be congregating. My way of knowing my sister in law’s bike was moving in or out. My way of knowing if my keiki was awake, crying, playing, or climbing up the stairs. I’ve sat in this spot and thought about how many other places there are to sit. Couches, chairs, the floor…none seem as “safe” or as desirable as this spot by the door. I’ve sat alone in an empty house, at this spot and thought about how I could be taking a bath, painting, sewing, lounging if I wanted-but I don’t. I just sit. At this spot. Waiting sometimes, for my keiki to be done with school. Waiting to be needed. Feeling like this spot right here is the best spot, the only spot. 5 year’s sitting harmoniously with this little wooden footstool in this spot. Scooching, holding, admiring, consulting, drinking, thinking, planning, dreaming, loving, living and beginning, from this spot. 


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