the_gathering ovenbird The table is set with the good china–the plates with blue flowers, crystal glasses rimmed with metallic cerulean, a cobalt table cloth and white napkins. The adults will drink white wine, the children will have apple juice. The room is full of sunlight and quiet anticipation. We all sit and she sets the main course on the table proudly–cedar plank salmon stuffed with ricotta cheese and roasted red peppers. I feel hunger rising. She serves the fish, which flakes under her fork. When she gets to me there are only scraps of oily skin left on the ultramarine Royal Doulton serving platter. She hands me a blue plastic bowl full of raw baby carrots. I start to protest, but see that there’s no sense. Everyone is devouring what they’ve been given, not caring at all that I have nothing but rabbit food for myself. I watch everyone eat, and pass the salt, and pour more wine, and clean their plates. The bowl of carrots sits untouched in my lap. It’s so clear that I don’t belong here. No one turns towards me, their words skip over me like stones. I turn my face to the window and wait for the setting sun to paint the sky red. 251018 what's it to you? who go blather from