Sunday Dinner (With Grandmother)
By hadley
Wed, 01 Sep 2010
- 836 reads
These formal situations.
We sit like disapproval,
Our backs straight as hard chairs.
Hands, an unnecessary indulgence,
Lie defeated and limp in laps
Like the vegetables set out
And accusing on the plates
Our eyes stare deep into,
As though they are pools
Feeding the secret rivers
Escaping underground to the sea.
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