Table Talk

One little secret spewed

From the hole in my face.

Words erupted,

Slowly dribbled

Splat, plunk,

Like viscous lava

Into the puddled gravy

On my wedgewood blue China plate.

The arcade of sound

Throughout the house -

Laughter, music, tv in the next room,

The kids' video game,

Hushes.

The November wind blustering to get in

Echoes around dinner's remains

Of stuffed turkey, sweet yams

And Brussels sprouts.

The family licks their forks

Of pumpkin and apple pie

Topped with fresh cream,

Whipped by hand.

Everyone stills,

Like animations frozen on screen.

"Can you rewind that, please?"

"Yes, but it will do no good. 

The volcano has activated."

The room holds its breath

A beat or two

Until I relax,

Exhale the struggle,

And collapse, 

Smiling,

into the truth of myself

And we enjoy our just desserts.