quiet.
Staring into mounds of chopped liver,
tossing potatoes around
with a long-pronged silver fork,
splitting, breaking, tearing skin apart.
'Can you pass the salt please?'
'What, you're telling me there's not enough salt in this?'
'I'm not telling you anything, I'm asking for the salt.'
Glasses filled with wine chime
as fingers clumsily reach for stems
hitting the crystal against flowered plates,
silence slicing through turkey.
Crisply burnt honey crust
crackles with the split,
as the force of the knife
pushes the platter into Marcie's meal.
'For Pete's sake,
will you give me a hand with this over here?'
Manicured coral nails steady the bird
amidst an undercurrent of noises:
metal skating along ceramic,
teeth grinding into stuffing,
glass colliding with shakers,
murmurs spoken, whispered.
Feet escape under the table,
some creep up legs,
others play with shoes,
stroking places beyond plain sight.
Image via ilovedust.
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