"Uncle" by PW Jarungpiterah

Since the fight at the table—
about how first was last, and
last was first, as to the order
of eating, on account of being
poor relations, in particular
the child, not his child, and his
wife, her voice like a redback
spider and the folded butterfly
of his legs opening out, then
a fist closed so that not even
light could enter, and the way
the wood split under it—he
eats outside.
                        His face hovers over
the bowl as if looking for his own
reflection. The memory of it
hovers over them like a common
brown house moth.

 

 

 

From The Malahat Review's summer issue #223