Eating from the Good China
The tea spouts into the teacup
spilling over. Everything in this family is
unsayable. I clutch my dress closer to my neck
and pass the salad with my free hand.
My sister-in-law pours cognac for my brother
and we all toast to love
because it is his birthday
and not the time to talk
of the marriage they spent
eight years unloving.
Nobody would be here if not for the cake
my mother spent hours layering,
missing breast beating against oven heat.
Even so, my brother leaves early,
half a slice sitting on his plate--
to meet his mistress
and the children all want to go home.
I am impressed with the steely strength
of women like my sister-in-law.
She is a grey-faced clock, clears the dishes
and tells them to put on their shoes.
Of women like my mother,
who tells her son she is not on his side
because she has been the woman left before.
I do not pick sides, but cannot bring myself
to kiss my sister-in-law
on the cheek
since we have never been close.
Throatstuck, I pour lemon sweet tea for myself,
wash the dishes with searing hot water
and sit with my father at the empty table.
My mother delivers cake pieces
to the neighbors and doesn't think my advice worthwhile
because I know nothing about men.
I keep heartbreak in my mouth
and think about the night on the stoop
years ago
when my brother told me three things:
1- You make sacrifices for your family
2- I married out of spite
3-If you're a lesbian then you are not my sister
And suddenly the giant blue jems
on my 4 year old niece's jeans
appear as rock hard tears.
I rub my palm across my father's belly,
and sigh staring ahead- comforted by silence
because I know he misses all his lost daughters.
He never writes to them
and never asks me about love.
Missing and pride.
My father and I, we sit speaking
and unspeaking.
spilling over. Everything in this family is
unsayable. I clutch my dress closer to my neck
and pass the salad with my free hand.
My sister-in-law pours cognac for my brother
and we all toast to love
because it is his birthday
and not the time to talk
of the marriage they spent
eight years unloving.
Nobody would be here if not for the cake
my mother spent hours layering,
missing breast beating against oven heat.
Even so, my brother leaves early,
half a slice sitting on his plate--
to meet his mistress
and the children all want to go home.
I am impressed with the steely strength
of women like my sister-in-law.
She is a grey-faced clock, clears the dishes
and tells them to put on their shoes.
Of women like my mother,
who tells her son she is not on his side
because she has been the woman left before.
I do not pick sides, but cannot bring myself
to kiss my sister-in-law
on the cheek
since we have never been close.
Throatstuck, I pour lemon sweet tea for myself,
wash the dishes with searing hot water
and sit with my father at the empty table.
My mother delivers cake pieces
to the neighbors and doesn't think my advice worthwhile
because I know nothing about men.
I keep heartbreak in my mouth
and think about the night on the stoop
years ago
when my brother told me three things:
1- You make sacrifices for your family
2- I married out of spite
3-If you're a lesbian then you are not my sister
And suddenly the giant blue jems
on my 4 year old niece's jeans
appear as rock hard tears.
I rub my palm across my father's belly,
and sigh staring ahead- comforted by silence
because I know he misses all his lost daughters.
He never writes to them
and never asks me about love.
Missing and pride.
My father and I, we sit speaking
and unspeaking.