andrew david king



scarcity begets necessity

This meal, untouched, sitting before us,
no one ready or hungry enough
to eat.

My cold hands, each digit a spider's
leg, creeping across the table under
cold light.

The candle is the only warmth, the
only light, my palm grips it, my breath
extinguishes it.

Your eyes, frozen in time, an
eternal memory we struggle to
hold on to.

The grandfather clock, wood
groaning, each chime another
funeral bell.

The blowing chandelier, crystals waving,
raising light in crooked patterns across the walls
of this broken home.

The empty seat, at the end of the table,
filled with unsaid words, unforgivable deeds and
an unforgettable reality.

We are a universe of shadows,
a swirl of stars. Don't utter a word.
Everything has already been said.

Andrew David King is a writer from Fremont, California. He has been published in numerous in-print and online publications, as well as alongside authors Ursula K. Le Guin, Luis J. Rodriguez, Stephen King, Jimmy Santiago Baca, Neil LaBute, and others. He may be contacted at


back to issue 3

take me home