Molly O’Dell
At the Buffet
Her royal blue blouse shimmies
in a shaft of light
while she talks with her husband
who throws back his head to laugh.
Her hands shake symmetrically,
uncontrollably. Left hand holds her plate
while the right one scoops pickled
beets then lifts the top off the stewpot.
As they sit and talk I watch
her eat her soup. Each spoonful’s
kinetically delivered with a quivery
hand that spills more soup
as the tremor’s rate and range
increases the closer the spoon
moves towards her mouth. The thing is,
she never winces or whines
and her husband doesn’t take his eyes
off hers, try to help or say he’s sorry.