Gabriela Docan

EATING DINNER

 

The right hand forms a horseshoe

Between the thumb and the other fingers

To cup, hold and lift the glass.

The left hand gently grabs the fork,

Its fingers curl around the metallic body,

The index pressures the back of its head

To spear the flesh of food with its curved tines.

The food patiently awaits in contemplation.

 

With elbow bent at ninety degrees angle,

The right arm moves back and forth

As if playing a cello – to cut

The fork-held food with the knife.

The eyes follow the hands’ labour:

It loads and lifts the fork holding

bite-sized pieces to a mouth

that opens welcoming lips.

 

Rows of teeth chop and grind the bites

While strong jaws move like a stapler.

The tongue pushes chewed pieces of food

To the back of the throat, where they get swallowed

And down they go – like kids on a slide.

The nostrils flare, flooded with flavours.

The tongue licks the lips; the blinks are prolonged

In mind-blowing delight of the senses.