The Ends of Things
by Sharon Portnoff
Family dinners and we fought for the crust
Of the rye to dunk in the stew
Tended to by our mother, a must
If we wanted to
Savor the juice of the meat
And a victory, one of few
In a family to whom to eat
Was compensation, some would say, for no stars
In our eyes or perhaps in human deed.
What was the need to go out too far?
The while is the why
And the way we remember.
And I try, but
With the end of you I
Copyright © 2013 by Sharon Portnoff.