The Weight of Silence

At the table, silence hangs thick in the air,

a moment of stillness, a quiet despair.

Then comes the crunching, sharp bites of the night,

as voices dissolve, and the sound takes its flight.

A soft crunch of carrot, the echo it makes,

each chew feels like thunder, and every one breaks,

the intimate space, laden with meaning and weight,

reminding me softly of presence, of fate.

What is it we share in this mundane refrain,

that the sound of our eating can cut through the pain?

Each bite is a heartbeat, each pause an embrace,

and I wonder, in silence, what fills this small place.