I stand in the queue, swede in hand

trolley filled with representations of the person I hope to become

fresh, safe, healthy, organic

the sound of fruit and vegetables screaming for my attention drowns out the sound of you wondering out load how it came to this

The food on my table became something much bigger than it was ever intended to be

there’s no such thing as an innocent steak and peas

You casually opened my fridge door for a cursory glance

an uninvited familiarity

my private inner world,

until now known only to myself and the girl on the checkout at the grocery store

When I invited you to dinner you looked at me as if I had asked you to parent my children

we had been dancing around in concentric circles of admiration, formalities slipping away over drinks for weeks

Could inviting you to cross my threshold have overstepped yours?

I have offered you a seat at my table and a place in my heart

not your last supper

a sacred feast symbolising the beginning of something more

a time when I know what you like to eat for breakfast and how you have your coffee

when you share your pleasure in your meal with me on the same fork across the table

when tastes and aromas inhabit our landscape

forming our story around the intimacy of food