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
Welcoming.
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
