Synaesthesia Magazine Eat | Page 57

I watch from the living room window as my mother is helped out of the car then holds her husband’s arm before them the uneven sidewalk the gaps in the stone porch steps to worry over as they approach the front door, I am confident she will eat— she loves our company the meal, her current favorite, but just one small bite of fried chicken a forkful of risotto she butters a morsel of bread and forgets, it idles at the edge of the plate, the sparkling cranberry juice barely touched, no momentum the rest of us eat and talk while she sits like a throw pillow in her chair the contrast throws me, hurtles me against a dark wall, I watch her pick up her fork and feel my hopes rise, put some rice on your fork, please put it in your mouth, please in your mouth