That Final Meal
Hard and cold and brittle,
the atmosphere at that final meal,
porcelain laid out in gold-rimmed splendor
upon the spotless tablecloth.
Conversation was formal and polite,
passing over shared unmentioned guilt.
Those plates had seen it all,
delicately present through the years,
from those first bright marriage joys,
her smile as she unpacked this wedding gift,
delight of those first dinners.
Passing years, more meals, delight soon failed.
The plates were there as disillusion grew
and family expanded.
The first boy smashed a side-plate
accidentally with a careless hand –
he always was the careless type.
The second threw a dish against the wall
in cataclysmic anger,
treading broken shards into the floor.
The daughter wept her bitter tears,
her arm swept plates and dinner to the ground
before she ran away.
More plates were ruined on long nights of fear,
then finally the soup-tureen was lost.
The happy bridegroom of those early days –
thirty years had gone – he smashed it in his rage.
She cried then for her life, her shattered porcelain.
Later, so much later,
after that final dreadful meal,
a charity shop displayed
a damaged set of vintage porcelain,
some parts cracked or missing,
yet beautiful – those gilded rims still shone.
A student took it to her cramped small flat.
Loving the beauty, she didn’t mind the damage.
That night, she ate a cheerful solitary meal
of beans on toast, from shining porcelain.
By Suz Winspear
“Suz Winspear is a poet, writer, artist, performer, former Worcestershire Poet Laureate, and former Poet-in-Residence at the Museum of Royal Worcester. She lives in a disused church, and has a day-job in the Worcester City Art Gallery and Museum – her favourite part of which is opening up the Victorian Chemist’s Shop and telling visitors about interesting vintage poisons.”