Antonia

Christmas Dinner

“It’s so great we are all here, together, just like every year.”

I think, and all of this money spent, in order to arrive in a house

where no one ever really speaks the truth.

I eat slower than usual, in order not to finish first, neither last,

as both scenarios would spark a conversation

that I cannot bear, not now.

And when she finally can’t resist I say,

“Wow, and so much snow out here, in Paris we never see any.”

The truth is, I love them dearly,

and mostly when I am far away.

The truth is, I want to rub my face into the white blanket outside,

to cool off, to soothe myself.

She asks about my love life, I say,

“You know, she’s good, we’re good.”

I think, the f*ck is wrong with you, playing the game as if

you hadn’t called us friends a week ago,

stumbling over your own words.

Excusing yourself right after

I smile, take a bite and hate myself a little,

for always forgiving her so quickly.

“Potatoes?” she asks, and I accept,

knowing refusal would give her an excuse

to take hold of my body as if it was hers.

Motherly love,

I think, as I chew and swallow, chew and swallow.

In two days, I’ll take the train back into

the grey and colourless city, in two days,

I’ll breathe in the polluted air, deeply.

And it’s not all her fault, you know, there’s other reasons –

I’m doing it again, I think,

I really should have listened to my therapist.

Maybe our house is quite simply haunted.

“Thank you for all this, it was delicious”, I say.

And think, I know I’ll cry on my way home.

Someone I dated years ago told me once how

the Christian belief had installed a lot of guilt in them,

and a lot of things made sense all of a sudden.

And I didn’t even grow up very catholic.

I look outside the window

The snow is still falling, smothering,

and oh, so soothing.

texte écrit par Antonia, compte insta @tonikranebitter

atelier Fiertés, rages et paillettes, mai 2025