Kids are not home today.
Our son is on a school trip, our daughter at Helena’s.
When was the last time we had dinner sitting face to face like this.
The evening paper finally ran the photographs of a boy and a girl, abducted, the boy was 11 years old, and his sister, 8,
just like Ken and Rika two years ago.
No, they have not found the body of the girl yet.
We are having dinner, face to face.
My wife says something, to which I reply, and all the while
we hear the knives and forks clattering on the plates.
Another couple who will listen to the same sound
at the edge of the bottomless darkness;
they could have been us, so
should we be happy, giving a prayer of thankfulness?
Bread crumbs falling from the edge of my mouth into the abyss.
Cool wind blows up from far below.
My wife passes me the salt.