Somehow, one expects
all that food
to rise up
out of the canning jars
and off the dinner plates
and do something,
mean something.

But, alas, it’s all
just stuff and more
stuff, without pausing
for an interval
of transformation.

Even family 
relationships
go begging
for any illumination.

And yet, there is competence,
there is some quiet,
glitter to the surface,
a certain cleanliness,
which means next to

nothing, unless you want
to eat off the floor.