eyes Wide at the magnificent spread
lard-ed with cheeses, meats, sweets and bread

Mam has put on the table:

“I want to feel my ribs.
Everyone should starve.
This is too much.”

“It’s a gift for you,”
I say.

a pale mouth nibbles a profiterole

There is silence between us.

She says
“I’m careful what I wish for.
I want somebody to die.
I don’t want love.
I need grief.”