In the
growing dark of dusk,
the table is laid for five –
plate piled high with food,
except for one.
The empty plate sits at the head of the table.
She sits at the head,
hands wrinkled and folded.
She waits for her guests,
hoping there is enough to appease them.
They arrive in dribs and drabs –
silent and ethereal.
First, is her childhood friend,
tongue lolling and tail wagging.
Second, the child she aborted,
half developed limbs flailing.
Third, her college roommate,
judgmental eyes watching.
And last, her broken husband,
love into hatred turning.
They come to feast
on her guilt, her shame and her anger –
draining her dry of life,
feeding off of her
until she is like them –
ghostly and dead.
the table is laid for five –
plate piled high with food,
except for one.
The empty plate sits at the head of the table.
She sits at the head,
hands wrinkled and folded.
She waits for her guests,
hoping there is enough to appease them.
They arrive in dribs and drabs –
silent and ethereal.
First, is her childhood friend,
tongue lolling and tail wagging.
Second, the child she aborted,
half developed limbs flailing.
Third, her college roommate,
judgmental eyes watching.
And last, her broken husband,
love into hatred turning.
They come to feast
on her guilt, her shame and her anger –
draining her dry of life,
feeding off of her
until she is like them –
ghostly and dead.
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