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 father 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 symbolizing 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

Image: The Cloisters food garden, Fort Tyron Park, Manhattan, New York City