Plate Weight

The turkey carcass, picked clean, bare.

Mashed potatoes, cold, still there.

Aunt Carol cleared her throat again,

a sound that signaled, 'here's the pain'

that no one speaks, but everyone

has felt. The dinner nearly done.

My cousin watched his gravy pool.

Grandpa's eyes, a distant, cool

kind of stare at the ceiling fan.

Another year, another plan

to not upset the quiet hum.

The silent wishes, never come.

The air was thick, like clotted cream.

No second helpings. Just a dream

of honest words. The fork felt heavy.