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POEM: The Table

A woman filled with the emptiness of a life alone

Returns to the trusty table

Her confidant, solid and true.

Carefully placing

Overflowing shopping on its familiar surface.

The heart of the hub of the home.

Marked and imperfect

Well lived

Well loved.

Scrumptious smells leave the bag before the loaf

Wafting, intermingling with sublime sounds

The DAB her constant companion

Sometimes calming,

Always freeing,

Glorious festival memories filling the space

Making the woman dance around the room maniacally

Much to the amusement of the postman.

Outside, lavender cascades down the wall

Its fragrance and flowers calling the bees

Bringing the woman joy in a glance.

Four, four, four plus two

Delia's reliable recipe

Now the woman's own.

Cakes rising in the oven

Not yet ready for the table.

The woman mourns for company

For Daniel, for friends.

The table overflowing once more


Surrounded by laughter, stories, bodies.

The woman longs for restrictions to end.

The table is always there.

Waiting patiently.

Its familiarity comforting.

The doorbell rings...

By Pam


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