KITCHEN TALK
28 March 2026
Tess Gallagher grew up in Port Angeles, Washington, where her family worked in the logging industry. In the poem that follows, she records her father’s 3:00 am monologue in all its crisp un-self-pitying detail, its understated bitterness and grit.
“3:00am Kitchen: My Father Talking” by Tess Gallagher (b.1943)
For years it was land working me, oil fields,
cotton fields, then I got some land. I
worked it. Them days you could just about
Make a living. I was logging.
Then I sent out to Missouri, Momma
came out. We got married,
We got some kids. Five kids.
That kept us going.
We bought some land near the water.
It was cheap then. The water
was right there. You just looked out
the window. It never left the window.
I bought a boat. Fourteen footer.
There was fish out there then
You remember, we used to catch
six, eight fish, clean them right
out in the yard. I could of fished to China.
I quit the woods. One day just
walked out, took off my corks, said that’s
it. I went to the docks.
I was driving winch. You had to watch
to see nothing fell out of the sling. If
you killed somebody, you’d
never forget it. All
those years I was just working
I was on edge, every day. Just working.
You kids. I could tell you
a lot. But I won’t.
It’s winter. I play a lot of cards
down at the tavern. Your mother.
I have to think of excuses
to get out of the house. You’re
wasting your time, she says. You’re
wasting your money
You don’t have no idea, Threasie.
I run out of things
To work for. Hell, why shouldn’t I
play cards, Threasie,
some days now I just don’t know.
What a poem—so raw, so poignant, so courageous! Reading it reminds us, over and over, that a poem doesn’t need to be a “made” thing. It can be pulled out of the air, listened into existence, set down on the page just the way that it is spoken. Do you know someone whose story calls to you? Can you make a time to sit with them and listen?
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Oh Christian, So powerful. The full spectrum of human emotions here. This is what we have come to Earth school to experience and learn from.
The witnessing/ connection/ being seen and heard is a deep comfort for the soul.
Thank you for, once again, inviting us to the feast of stories.
Joy