What’s in a Table

Hollowed river valleys run through the wood on my table
The crevasses spider web out to catch all the remains of meals past
Trapped there are the crumbs of our lives.
Holding memories in its grooves like a mother clings to her child.
I wipe it off and set the table for dinner and start to cook.
There’s the ever present click, click ,click of a mouse or two.
She’s home from work, on her computer again.
Always on her computer, clicking her life away.
He does the same, in his room
Like mother, like son
Smells of onion and garlic slip through the air seductive with promises
“Swish, pop, sizzle,” says the food in the pan. The oven snaps like a steel trap.
Dinner’s served on my table
No more click clacks of the keyboards, just the buzz of a family enjoying their food.
No talking, just sitting and eating, together.
The moment settles around me like a blanket of loving arms.
I run my fingers along the smooth surface, reading the wear like a blindman reads brail.
Scratches, from meals shared and crafts learned,
places that cut hands were placed for band-aids,
bread kneaded, cookies rolled and cut out,
It’s where she told me a thousand times, she loved me,
it was all there, my table told me so.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *