photo: sharon auberle
AT TABLE
by Michael Koehler
Chew on the gristle of these words.
Do they fill that hollow craving
that yawns just below the heart?
I sit at the table of my life,
plates loaded with all I desire,
heavy wine glistening in the flagrant
candlelight.
My ghostly guests raise a toast to
me, their host.
Old Loneliness stares into his cups,
mutters what could be a curse.
The Little Boy who was rewarded with
snacks
eats all the greens on his plate out
of fear.
Sadness picks at her food, goes hard
on the Cabernet.
The Junkie has abandoned the table
altogether
and sits now in the light of the
refrigerator.
With one expansive gesture I ingest
them all.
If there are skeletons in any of the
closets of my heart
they are the bones of ancestors
picked clean long ago.
~ first published in Fox Cry Review
