A used bandage clings to a Limoges plate,
a beige, sticky island in a sea of white.
It smells of old iodine and dried blood,
beside a single, shriveled olive.
You wore your best dress to the funeral,
but your shoes were leaking grey slush.
We spoke in whispers about the inheritance,
while a fly drowned in the champagne.
It was the most honest meal we ever had.