my plate

Alongside the passing dishes, the casserole, the pie

My plate holds missing memories, of stress, of grief, of sighs

Perfect porcelain china that we see just once a year

Pretty decorations that hide both pride and tears

My plate holds conversations of loosened family ties, of people that we once held dear, and now have to leave behind

I balance my politeness like the food groups on my plate

Carbs heavy like the questions as they ask about my latest failing date

But on top of everything I add a little grace

because even despite it all, my plate is giving thanks