Forks And Fault Lines
We got headlines cutting through the family
like a dull rusted knife
turning one long kitchen table
into a front line for life
Mom sets out the chipped plates
same roast
same mashed
saying grace under her breath
TV humming in the background
crawling with the latest count of death
Dad walks in with his phone
already shouting headlines in his hand
says “can you believe this shit”
before he even finds a place to stand
Brother taps the table with his finger
says “that’s not even close to true”
waves his own bright screen like scripture
with a different colored view
Each feed fed by its own preacher
algorithm pouring fuel
now two men who share a bloodline
are playing someone else’s fool
Used to argue over chores and curfews
stupid fights we’d mend
now it’s “where the hell did you get that”
and “you’re brainwashed”
without end
Aunt forwards some wild story
in the group chat right before we eat
something about secret plots
and the neighbors down the street
Uncle mutters “they’re all lying”
but he means a different “they”
everyone trusts a stranger more
than what their own kin say
We pass the peas and mashed potatoes
like a ceasefire in disguise
then someone drops a trigger word
and the hate fills up their eyes
Grandma stares down at her plate
like she can’t hear the words at all
but her hand shakes just a little
every time the voices fall
She remembers when the paper came
once a day and that was it
now ten thousand shouting channels
fight to own each little bit
She doesn’t know which clip is doctored
which quote got chopped in half
just knows the kids stopped visiting
after one too many gaffes
Nobody at this table
wrote a single headline on their phone
but they’ll go to bed convinced
their kin are threats to what they own
Whole companies get rich
off making sure we never agree
selling outrage by the portion
while we choke on what’s not free
There’s a profit in each fracture
in each slammed door and cut-off call
and we pay it every holiday
in silence down the hall
Little sister asks a question
that hangs heavy in the smoke
“do you still love each other
if you think each other’s woke?”
Half the room laughs bitter
half the room just looks away
nobody answers straight
they just reload what their screens say
Someone reaches for the clicker
like they’re grabbing for a gun
switches to a rerun
just to keep this house as one
One day maybe we’ll talk again
about how the garden’s doing out back
about the song stuck in our heads
instead of who’s on the attack
Till then I pass the salt
and swallow all the words I won’t say
trying to see the people I grew up with
through the noise in the way