Paradoxes We Left in the Kitchen Drawer

Between the can opener
and the potato peeler,
Zeno’s arrow never reaches
the back of the drawer.

The measuring spoons
hold infinite regression:
each half-teaspoon contains
smaller measures of doubt.

That fork from Theseus’ ship —
we’ve replaced the handle twice,
the tines three times,
but it’s still the same fork,
isn’t it?

Schrödinger’s tupperware:
simultaneously empty
and full of leftovers
until you open the lid.

The quantum spatula exists
in all possible positions
at once, yet somehow
is never where you need it.

Time flows differently here:
the egg timer runs backwards
while yesterday’s coffee
stays eternally warm.

The knife that carved
the chicken that came
before the egg sits next to
the spoon that can’t contain
itself.

That ladle your grandmother gave you
is older than she was
when she received it
from…