Epimetheus shuffled Pandora
into the house
with slight trepidation;
her skin still seemed too soft,
Here is the bed.
Here is the grain.
Here is where we build the fire.
Pandora tiptoed into the kitchen,
trailed her fingertips along the counter
and over the stacks of unwashed dishes
while Epimetheus watched, giddy
as a bottle of champagne.
Here is where you pluck the chickens like lyres.
Here is where you bake the daily bread.
Here is where we fill our bellies
with all the goodness from your oven.
Pandora felt his eyes dig into her
like twin sickles. Felt her flesh
grow red. Turning away, her errant
elbow sends the water jug crashing to the floor.
The familiar curves reduced
to shards at her feet.
Pandora stared at the ruined thing,
then at her husband, then back down
and began to scream.
Listen to Allison reading ‘Pandora’s Kitchen’ (1:11).
Allison Goldstein received her MFA from California College of the Arts. She is a professional writer who has been published in a variety of literary and cultural publications. Allison currently lives and writes in South Florida with her husband and two cats.
© text and audio 2020