A Dinner At Home Poem by Jenny Kalahar

The roast is done! Sit down, sit down!
Stop teasing your sister and sit down right now!
Pass the salt
Where's the gravy? Who's hogging the gravy? Save me some!
*The brown-juicy meat in hearty chunks, stabbed and shaken onto crowded plates
with white mounds of spuds molded into craters
waiting for seasoned gravy that takes forever to be passed*
Carrots? No. Here ya go. But I don't want any carrots!
All right, I'll take a couple
but hurry up with that gravy—geez!
Just give me half a roll, I won't have room
Watch out! You almost spilled my milk!
Dad, can you make them me save some gravy, please?
Don't start eating until we've said the prayer
Okay, dig in
Slow down
Chew, don't inhale, for cripe's sake
Move your stupid elbow! Move it!
Mom, he's looking at me funny
Don't look at your sister funny and just eat
Did you say we have pie?
Hey—be sure to save something for the dog!
That dog will probably get the gravy before I do
Did you say we have pie for dessert?
Pie? We have pie? What kind of pie?
*A pinch of roast is held under the table for the cat—
the ever-present-for-any -meal cat*
Ouch! Leave the fingers, kitty!
Did you pick up my magazine at lunch today?
Did you cancel my dentist appointment?
How many times to do I have to tell you to wipe with your napkin,
Not your sleeve!
Save some for the dog
We will, we will!

*Warm butter melting into fresh banana bread
Those yellow, glistening daubs
seeping slowly in to moist brown mmmness*
I thought you said we had pie!
That looks like banana bread
Oh, both. Both? Wow!
*Oh, the pie, the bubbling-through-the-side-pinched-crust blueberry goodness
With its tease of crystal sugar bits on top*

Can't clear my plate, I'm late for Boy Scouts
I have to go over to Bob's tonight
They're waiting for me down at the lake. Bye!

And they're gone, though the dirty dishes still sit there staring smearily
The few leftovers are mixed with kibble for the dog
and then set before that anxious, quivering furball
Tonight's offering includes a crust of pie and a couple of carrots
The cat lounges, still under the table
She washes a paw thoroughly, then her white whiskers
Seven plates are hauled out and placed on the kitchen counter
The everyday tablecloth is taken to the screened back door to be shaken just outside
Dad unfolds the evening newspaper with a snap
A steaming faucet flow whips suds that swell inside the green plastic dishpan
The thin girl with blonde, summer braids
sits at the crackled-varnish upright piano in a room just off of the kitchen
The mother listens to In the Garden as she wipes plates, glasses, forks
during the dishwashing/entertainment portion of the evening

As the sun slides behind neighborhood trees our daily food is forgotten
But we had gathered for this ritual to remind ourselves that we are a family
Then, in a moment, our parts dispersed
like grains of salt swept off the table we went our separate ways
though still connected
We were given the food of life:
A blending of flavors and words
nudges and laughter and harassment and love
Until we were full
And all of it, all of it, fills us still today