Potato Eaters

We keep gathering
in circles, facing dishes with spoons
and we shuffle our potatoes
back and forth as we sort
memories of long days with short words.

Our work is never finished.
We are light tinged with soil.

Grasping a stone
built for eating makes the grim
dinner by the window
seem a divine intervention.

We taste of underdeveloped joy.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s