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Loss of Appetite

The world shifted a bit when I walked inside,

my resolution blind to the choke of memory.

It wasn't even you, just your little sister..

I still wanted to turn around, and walk right 

back out of the restaurant. Go home.

**** lunch. Hungry for solitude, I fumbled

with the menu and meditated on the restless

scabs of a beer battered soul.

My father watched my jaw clench

and squinted. Mumbled his query,

but didn't push it. I couldn't speak,

bloody tidal waves surging toward

my eyelids, blurred the menu.

Brinzano? Sea Bass with a 

Chipotle sauce on a bed of rice.

Unsure of my palate, my tongue 

slowly shoveled the words out

and I ordered despite my appetite 

for closure. We locked eyes for a

moment, and she smiled. 

I nodded. Stroked my beard,

and looked toward the truck.

Stuck. 

It was probably rude.

A bit pathetic.

It wasn't even you, just your sister.

But a relative of a butcher,

still sometimes smells of blood.

The food, flavorless in the mouth

of bitter reflection wasted.

The wait for the check, ticked

slowly across my spine

and I wondered if you ever 

saw the flesh of my posture

in a crowd; If it stood out?

Made you hungry?

Or if you have forgotten,

the way I've been trying to

for so long.

-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.

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