Eating Together by Kim Addonizio

I know my friend is going,
though she still sits there
across from me in the restaurant,   
and leans over the table to dip
her bread in the oil on my plate; I know   
how thick her hair used to be,   
and what it takes for her to discard
her man’s cap partway through our meal,   
to look straight at the young waiter   
and smile when he asks
how we are liking it. She eats
as though starving—chicken, dolmata,   
the buttery flakes of filo—
and what’s killing her
eats, too. I watch her lift
a glistening black olive and peel   
the meat from the pit, watch
her fine long fingers, and her face,   
puffy from medication. She lowers   
her eyes to the food, pretending
not to know what I know. She’s going.   
And we go on eating.

Oh, how I love this woman’s writing!

Her website:

10 thoughts on “Eating Together by Kim Addonizio

      • I don’t see that in my own writing, but I am glad you do, and I certainly strive for it. I sometimes feel like I hide behind the words, use them as a cloak. I suppose there are different ways of being fearless and fierce and I hope the picture will become clearer the more I write. Does that make sense?


      • And perhaps a necessary one as well. This makes me very emotional, Rita….it’s a good thing. Thank you.


      • Oh sweetheart ❤️. Our voice is our very spirit I think. I know having my Aunt give a diary at thirteen saved my spirit from the crushing life had determined to give it.

        There have been millions of words written by this soul since then that these lips would have never uttered.


      • I am completely with you. I have a voice when I am writing, but without the writing I would have long since disappeared. I am so glad your Aunt gave you that diary!


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