Language, a Meal I Thought We Shared

1 Minute Read Time

A close-up of an empty, ceramic bowl sitting on a table in a dark room. — Photo by Qian Zhao on Unsplash

In the beginning, the gesture occurs 
without a thought:

I reach for the word you 
can’t grasp and pass it to you 
like a bowl filled with rice.

You spoon the rice onto your plate 
and pass back the empty bowl.

At this point,
the rounded space the bowl surrounds 
is not an image of loss.

Carolina Hotchandani

is a Goodrich Assistant Professor of English at the University of Nebraska Omaha. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in AGNI, Alaska Quarterly Review, Beloit Poetry Journal, The Journal, Missouri Review (poem of the week), New Ohio Review, Plume, Prairie Schooner, and West Branch. She lives in Omaha with her husband and daughter.

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