ON NOT COMING OUT

by Liz McCall

there was a moment when everyone stopped
talking and my mouth was full – an island: our
eyes meet across linen-draped table –
I know and you know –
of the sixteen people in my family I have
told only one – fifteen other expectations
quietly chewing food, plate-looking –
and in that spot of silence we alone know –
eyes drop away – round touchstones
of memory, a part of me – one riveting instance
of similarity –
the stillness remains, I expand to fill the gaps –