Loss of Appetite
The world shifted a bit when I walked inside,
my resolution blind to the choke of memory.
It wasn't even you, just your little sister..
I still wanted to turn around, and walk right
back out of the restaurant. Go home.
**** lunch. Hungry for solitude, I fumbled
with the menu and meditated on the restless
scabs of a beer battered soul.
My father watched my jaw clench
and squinted. Mumbled his query,
but didn't push it. I couldn't speak,
bloody tidal waves surging toward
my eyelids, blurred the menu.
Brinzano? Sea Bass with a
Chipotle sauce on a bed of rice.
Unsure of my palate, my tongue
slowly shoveled the words out
and I ordered despite my appetite
for closure. We locked eyes for a
moment, and she smiled.
I nodded. Stroked my beard,
and looked toward the truck.
Stuck.
It was probably rude.
A bit pathetic.
It wasn't even you, just your sister.
But a relative of a butcher,
still sometimes smells of blood.
The food, flavorless in the mouth
of bitter reflection wasted.
The wait for the check, ticked
slowly across my spine
and I wondered if you ever
saw the flesh of my posture
in a crowd; If it stood out?
Made you hungry?
Or if you have forgotten,
the way I've been trying to
for so long.
-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.
|