Tell us something about yourself

At twelve, my table was laden with silence;
I had nothing to say to anyone,
no passing squalls of chit-chat,
no curds-and-whey cloudy tall tales,
no lighting-strike of story,
I was silent, sucked into my flesh.

"Tell us something about yourself" said Father,
above our daily bread;
and I would, hesitantly, reach for a morsel,
holding my fork high so I wouldn´t drop it.
Easier, though
to carve the roast with the whetted knife
than the break of bread of conversation;
more painful to pass the time chatting
than pass a hot dish, sorting the peas and queues.

Language was a fast for one.

The phrase comes back to me now:
The impromptu "tell us something about yourself"
Above the delegates´banquet.
I never ever believed
I´d spend my life filleting words.

I am contented to be mute,
Sat at a board weighed down
With no judgement but excess:
And yet, I am greedy for crumbs
That are no more, when you shake life´s cloth

Than words on the cold, hard breath of the wind.


by Menna Elfyn