The Table
I'm sitting here, at the head of the table.
A table of memories, past and present—
Its origins long ago, as tall timber,
The meals shared with family and friends.
I made the table and, loyally, it has followed me.
Tonight, as head of the table,
At the head of the table,
I look at it and cherish the story
It is telling me tonight.
Four pomegranates, the fruit of love,
From my love, sit before me.
A vase of tall, yellow...yes, yellow,
Rebellious flowers, not destined to see
The light of Thursday.
There is artwork in progress.
This table is not a decoration,
It is a meeting place.
Serviettes, pens, placemats, napkins, scissors,
The paperwork for a future audit.
The remnants of a meal.
A printout of John O'Donahue's
Grace for Meals, read not memorised
But digested before the meal,
Reflecting the gratitude for the meal to come
And gratitude to the lady
Who introduced me to it.
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