First Supper Back
Last rays of the day dye our dining room
in a purple magnolia polish.
Utensils await, our hands rest,
eyes fixed on the plates. My mother’s face,
painted in blush, eyes flushed
puffy and scarlet. A drop wavers
past her ginger freckles.
She raises a napkin, but hesitates,
gulps, curves her eyebrows
into an arch and allows the bead
to fall. Our veins vibrate in sync:
da dum da dum da dum
a hum that sums our human noise
Not one limb moves,
not even when the auburn glow retreats
and the dark eats.
A seat waits empty.