The Table Is

the table is the center 
we plan, laugh, cry, argue, play, eat 
perhaps, that’s why 
the rest follows at the table 
our worth measured by a good meal 
our identities follow suit 
the worn part of the tablecloth 
where she sat 
she played cards at the table 
same spot, each day 
beneath her feet 
the floor just as worn 
its voice old and vibrant 
"this is where every thing that matters begins.
it happens 
we have planned the days 
and lived them here 
you move along tethered to this chair”.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2017

Poem

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