We Didn't

Four hours at the table and we didn't.

The casserole went hand to hand,

eyes on the dish. He'd been out of work

since August. Nothing was planned

to say. Nobody said it.

The cranberry was sweet. The rolls were warm.

We talked about the drive, the weather north,

someone's kitchen under some reform.

He laughed at something on the TV—

a working laugh, a costly one.

We all heard it and let it be enough.

We moved on.

We hugged at the door. We got our coats.

I tried to say it in the car.

The highway lights. The radio off.

My throat. That far.