The Fossil Record of Prehistoric Gnawing

[After a recent headline]

Just as a small twist
of the hand unscrews a bolt,
the fossil record of prehistoric gnawing
is unlocked with a pirouetting fork.

(This is a century of sipping and slurping, of
dripping, of grazing. This is quite serious.)

Mimi pours olive oil on
the gnocchi she just doused with water,
obeying the French cookbook because
it's French. We cannot even smell
the garlic anymore.

Look carefully. My father is kneeling on
the pale green carpet, feeding raisins to the dogs.
Spencer clenches his jaw (which pulses like a blender)
each time the subject of school is raised. Haley
does not bother with introductions
and presses a pistachio into her mouth -
whole - and her lips will twist like a washing machine
exhausted with dampness for
endless
minutes.

We know what you will say: Something scientific,
a family dynamic.

It's insulting; I've seen the gnawing.
I have seen the wet raisins on the floor
and you have not. I'm still recovering
from the Caesar salad two Christmases back.

(All our jaws were quiet.
It all started with a fossil.)