If I taught middle or high school English, this is a poem I would use to demonstrate imagery. Even though I have never had a stainless steel sink and spend a very limited amount of time in the unlit kitchen at night, I can see this image and it is striking. It reminds me of the sort of image they put in the opening scene of a movie, in the types of movies where they just show pictures of things with music for a few minutes before there are any people introduced.
How does one hold the moon? Especially those of us who are far less shiny than stainless steel?
The other thing I like about this poem is that you can hear it. Or rather, you can hear that you can’t hear it. The dark kitchen is not only dark, but silent. It just is. You can feel it. I generally have a hard time hearing silence. In bands and orchestras and instrumental music in general, conductors and instructors will talk about lengthening space between notes rather than shortening the length of notes, but I find it incredibly difficult to hear these small gaps of quiet. This poem, however, presents no problems with hearing the silence. It reminds me of my mother reading Good Night, Moon, which is something I distinctly remember because of the quiet of the book, and because I cannot recreate it when reading the book myself. Maybe I just have a thing for literary representations of the moon.