Every time the squad comes together we eat. It’s what my family does. digest a good meal as conversation marinates. words left at the table , finished on the porch. I’m never allowed to cook when we convene. If given duties , I’m usually relegated to the most rudimentary of dishes.
actually just set the table
It is where we will congregate after the food is blessed.
And the line of hungry people finish creating their plate of food.
an artistic pile of grub compiled almost as if a game of tetris was in being played.
I will make my plate last
There in my chest lies a fullness .
not from my mom’s salmon but rather from her laugh.
Dad’s snoring on grandma’s recliner. Tie flipped over the left shoulder. residue from a clever move to avert an unfortunate convening of precious silk fabric and briset gravy at the dinner table.
Laughs are shared and pie is cut. The Lakers are cruising through the playoffs.
When my Aunty Mattie points at the screen , Shaq can’t miss a free throw.
Such fortune is what keeps us together.
though at times we may be worlds apart.
Right now they are content.
I will eat later.
I’m full .