25 November 2009

day 23 p.a.d.


Supper is full of noise. The
sharp staccato of celery being
chopped. Forks and knives
rattle against each other like
bells with broken clappers.
Grandpa grunts as he tries to
get out of his chair.

In the middle of
everything slouches
a whistling boy. Sneaker
toes tap linoleum. Sigh. A
pencil clucks and whispers across
the paper. Sigh. Pencil
becomes drum stick until
the song ends. Sigh.

Platters stomp and
tromp on the table. Glasses
fill with water. Chairs
pull out. A rushed
prayer. The rip of
crusty bread. Everyone
speaks at once.

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