Dinner Time

You never once
glanced at the specks
of nothing on my
plate. The scraping
of metal on china. back
and forth, ceaseless.
Unrelenting. You are blind
to the ribs
projecting at such
funny angles. The
cheeks sinking
with each
vigorous movement
of the jaw. Or the warm
light dipping into
the hollows drawing
collarbones.

And you are
deaf to the retching and
gargling escaping my
lungs as I lean over into
my private little
hell. You do not hear
the bottomless
despair in our
conversations, or the
recurring whimpers that
accompany my
blood-shot eyes in
the dead of nights.

Here's what I
intended. Fragments
of truth embedded in
my protruding vertebra.
Just a trace of
solace poured into
your words. I did not
mean for my
insides to decay, to
turn gray and
cold as the endless
ocean that consumes
me. Because I am
stuck at sea. Swimming
in an immaculate mixture
of remorse and pride.

Reviews

[John A Common]

Wow that's really good. I wonder if my wife look's at me that way when we eat dinner? She probably does. This is one of the best poem's I have read on this site. I'm putting it in my fav's. Great job.