The Unsaid Carve

The sugar burned,

a thin, sweet smoke

after the pie was cut.

Aunt Carol,

her smile a crease

in a stretched face,

posted later, online.

I saw her then,

beneath the table,

fists around her purse,

like a small animal caught.

The turkey,

its skin glossy brown,

a shield of fat.

It reflected the chandelier,

all that bright, dead light.

Nobody mentioned

the silence.

The way it pressed,

like a heavy hand

on every plate.