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waiting in the kitchen drawer
Folder:
reworked vintage
It waits in the drawer,
a spiral of patience,
metal glint tucked among
the scatter of spoons.
Lifted, it feels heavier
than its size should allow,
a small machine of insistence,
hinged for descent.
The point finds its mark,
presses into the cork’s skin,
and the spiral begins its slow
burrowing, grain against grain.
The spiral burrows deeper,
metal teeth worrying the grain,
until the neck loosens,
a faint tremor at the rim.
Glass waits, taut with silence,
then yields—an opening
that breathes without announcement,
its throat bare to the air.
On the table, the bottle leans,
shadow stretched like a question,
while the cork, stunned in its release,
rests in the palm, still warm.
