The Table By the Window

the table by the window we sat and talked for hours around the old table that he built of scraps from the past “it may not look good but it will be here long past you and me.” we could see beyond the paint on the walls and the creaking floors leading down the darkened halls. we could see ourselves again as we were back then devoid of the sadness that tore us apart back in the time when we were what we were meant to be he my Father and me his son back to when we first begun. we talked about the old folks and the garden and the river and of God the giver of all things. we were not just kin we were friends. as the new day begins we begin to slip away from our bonds tying each to the other remembering how we really were… and now him dead and me dying. the table is still standing there in some forgotten timeless room waiting for those left of us to pull up a chair.