Sorrow is a Banquet

Sorrow is a banquet
Rich and poor attend

Spread out in a garden

Where the trees are empty

Of their fruit;
The ground, an uneven
Mosaic of decay;

The tablecloth has been pressed

And pressed again

But wrinkles will not be

So easily erased;

On the table is earthenware

Where liquid leaks out

Through the cracks;

There are plates, bowls, spoons,

And knives that slice;

There are no forks

To put in anything

Say, “I’m done”

There is a single folding chair,

Rickety and unsteady;

Shadow people mill about,

Nameless, faceless;

No one speaks -

There are no words

Upon the tongue;

You nibble on pork,
Gnaw on taffy;
Everything's salted with tears

Doughnuts are dusted with memories,
Ice cream, sprinkled with regret

It rains, of course

You look up to the sky for answers,

For a waiter to tell you

Which is the room

Down the corridor of doors

That will open to the place

Where glasses clink

And a soprano,
Dressed in deep lemon yellow,

Sings              

---

October 18, 2017