family dinners

one table, six chairs.
three, well worn,
the rest, collecting dust,
this will never feel like home.

one table, six chairs.
forget you, would that i might.
i sank into mine,
a little too comfortably.
i must have built up an appetite.

it was the same carousel every night.
the three of us,
nudging plates and wielding knives.
it was the same carousel every night.
those three chairs,
poison and vice.

she talks about calling people over,
and he laughs at her.
all this new cutlery and still,
who would want a seat at our table?

on Sundays, we like to feast.
hopes, dreams and my soul,
they were never really mine to keep.
Thursdays at this table are a real fucking treat.

one table, six chairs.
three, well worn,
the rest, collecting dust,
this will never feel like home.

one table, six chairs.
three, well worn,
the rest, collecting dust,
i know i'll be back soon.










4 thoughts on “family dinners

  1. eyo this is so well written aishu ; it felt real and dangerous, yet it also had this beautiful poetic flow and i think your use of repetition was very engaging in this particular poem. canโ€™t wait to read more ๐Ÿ™‚

    Like

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