Lion Afternoon by Jacek Yerka
Joining with the Sunday Muse for Muse # 69
Come join us!
We swallow greedily any lie that flatters us, but we sip only little by little at a truth we find bitter. ~Denis Diderot
What we bring to the table is as different as lima beans and
prime rib
But no matter the pot luck meal at hand
It serves a greater purpose
Than filling a belly
There is fellowship
Diversity
And food for the soul
Sometimes dinner time
Is the only time of gathering of a family
But at our dinner growing up
Diversity of fellowship and soul food
Were malnourished like all the starving children
My mother frequently spoke of
Yet there was much more than an elephant in the room
There was a lion under the table
So we did not kick our feet
If we wanted to keep all your limbs
Just ask to pass the potatoes
Do not ask why grandpa is dipping
In his old secret sauce again
Sometimes silence is golden
And others it is the roar
That haunts us for years to come.
There is a building fearfulness, a scary story breathing just loud enough around the edges...an amazing revelation and suppression of tension.
ReplyDeleteThis one is a tough one. The speaker sounds young and so scared, I want to hug her. Sigh. Food tastes like dust when the heart and peace of mind are get no food.
ReplyDeleteThe roar that haunts us for years to come. I remember mornings on the weekends of my childhood, after the previous night's drunken, violent fighting, me shivering with terror in my bed........at the breakfast table, we were to pretend none of it had happened, put on a false face..............or it was "go to your room and dont come out till you have a smile on your face." It took me a long time to find any voice at all, or to know how to tell the truth about my feelings. I smiled all the rest of my life. Your poem took me back there, Carrie. I think we have to congratulate ourselves that we came so far and emerged - eventually - whole. Fantastic and very real writing. The very best kind.
ReplyDeletePass the potatoes ... that roar seems to haunt us all of our lives. My grandfather drank, horribly. We always dreaded having guests because of his drunkeness. He was the lion under the table. This poem spoke to me.
ReplyDeleteI can certainly relate to this.
ReplyDeleteI love your title, your quote, and the poem uses the metaphors spectacularly!
ReplyDeleteSometimes silence is golden
ReplyDeleteAnd others it is the roar
That haunts us for years to come.
How lovely it is to fall back on the yesteryears with all the innocence of growing up to whet the appetite.
Hank