Dinnertime

The Voice: Don’t put off another poem,
You've got to stop doing that, its a bad habit.

This .................... Here.................... is your time.

“....................”

Look.

Look at it.

The Girl in the House: But, the house is on fire.

The Voice: Sorry?

The Girl in the House: The house is on fire.

And sure enough flames licked the wooden floor boards and newspapers on table tops curled at the corners and everything glowed.

The Girl in the House: Never mind though, dinner is almost ready.
Here, take my cheekbones. You can use them to eat.

She took her little finger and tucked it under the skin at her eye; under the dark circles that go purple when you are tired. She wiggled her finger and made room for another one and she invited The Voice to put their finger in the opening to help her stretch it and as the skin sagged you could see the muscles and bones sitting underneath. She didn’t have to break anything, she must have performed this process before, and the bone sucked out of its socket, cleanly. She repeated the process on the otherside and then handed them over, the cheekbones, to eat with.
The house was on fire, but dinner was ready and she had gone to so much trouble.

The Girl in the House: Dig in!