Eating Together
She sets the battered frying pan on the stove,
browns meat in oil, spatters grease.
Juicy canned tomatoes sting a cut on her finger,
red chili powder in dark red liquid.
They make small talk over steaming bowls,
close together at the old plank table.
News of the war murmurs behind them,
freezing rain rat-a-tat-tats the windows.
Are you listening to me, she cries silently,
do you hear what I'm saying?
He's a good man, quiet and simple,
his hands the calloused hands of a man
who works hard to earn his living.
Now they're red and cracked from the cold.
His jet black hair is too long, curls over
the frayed collar of his flannel shirt.
He doesn't hear the question in her words,
doesn't understand her despair.
She feels hollow inside,
dark and lonely like the night.
knows she must keep going,
afraid of what will happen if she stops.
2 comments:
This is a sad poem Marianne. Sounds like a communication breakdown between the couple. You have an uncanny ability in setting the scene for this enactment with pertinent imagery . Liked it a lot.
I love the starkness of this. Such simple, normal tasks. Such depth of feeling.
Post a Comment