The table is full of noisy ghosts–
they are woven through
the cloth that warms the bread–
simmering in the bowl of broth,
poured into the wine glasses,
reflected in the blade of the knife.
They gather in unrelated absence,
unknown to each other or themselves–
their years are few and many,
ages compressed into moments in time,
their stories fed by seasoning,
by the harvesting of lives.
Lingering beyond sustenance,
beyond hunger, an ache
that vibrates both blood and bones–
faces shadow the vacant chairs–
they whisper into the ceilings
and behind the dark walls.
Jade (hosted by Grace) at dVerse has us writing about food. I first wrote this poem for an Ekphrastic Review challenge, but it was rejected. I wanted to rework it a bit and do a collage, so this was the perfect opportunity.
If you want to see the artwork, by Anne Vallayer-Coster, that was the inspiration for my poem and art, and see the responses chosen, you can find them here.
