Friday, January 5, 2007

number 12

food & thought
There were six of us at the table: four of the family I live with, me the surrogate son, and a daughter's new boyfriend, here to meet the parents for the first time, and we ate baked mushrooms filled with good stuff and finger salads and spaghetti with the bread, the loaves torn to bits and plates of oil with salt and cracked pepper and we all laughed and we all passed plates and eyed the young man, comfortable or passing for comfortable and I thought about the miracle of guests and what it's like to pull a chair up to a strange table, what it's like to have a stranger at the table and how we aren't as strange as we clear the dishes, pour more wine.


Guests
For them, foreign everything,
a strange fork. For us, we break
bread with our finest faces.

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