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Assorted flavors, blended
with conversation.
Swelling. Fading. Swelling.
Loud. Soft. Loud. Silent.
In those scant moments
of silence, reflection.
Live-wire tension. You
can feel it building.
Something wants to blow.
You can see it, anxious,
in the lift of shoulders.
You can hear it whine.
Implosion imminent.
WHAT LIGHTS THE FUSE
Is an innocent question.
When are we going home?
asks David. Conversation brakes.
Everyone looks at Kristina,
who doesn’t answer right away.
Finally she says, I don’t know.
Donald stands, clenching
his fists. Fine by me. Who
wants to live with you, anyway?
He slams his chair back
into the wall, rattling dishes.
Then he stalks off into the other
room. Grandpa Scott says,
Excuse me, and follows,
leaving all eyes on Kristina.
I can’t go back to our old place,
