Eating Out (How You Gave Yourself Away)
How, waiting for me,
you balanced your fork
in your Michelangelo hand
as if still savoring the spice
while I mmmed my last swallows.
And how, if our misguided
waitpeople, noting the afterglow
from your empty dish, interrupted
with their eager-to-please
May I take your plate? you fully
forgave with No thank you,
I’ll wait for her, showing
I’d never have to finish alone.
Patricia Ranzoni is a Maine farm woman whose chief delight these days is a red plaid flannel sheet she found on sale for her winter kitchen curtain matching the red teakettle her daughter gave her and red 25-pound flour barrel her husband painted from which she still makes her family’s bread, giving one loaf from each batch to widowers. Her breads and poems help her express the joys of life with her “odd body”(title of a collection-in-progress) from the neuro-muscular variation, dystonia – slipping motor control, including speech. Her writing adventures can be found here: www.pw.org/content/patricia_ranzoni_1