Gather





Kitchen Table



At my best, twelve sit with me,

family feasting on penne pasta, gnocchi,

sizzling italian sausage, vinegar & oil salad,

warm garlic bread is the last to take its place.

I don't mind the Parmesan cheese or

spills of red wine covering me,

banter and laughter flowing around

me in spontaneous inspiration.

 

I bear it, unmoved, with

legs like pedestals and claw feet,

an island of stability.

Others rock back on two legs,

thrilled to tempt tipping,

reaching out to me for balance.

My support is steady, quiet.

They know me, even

love me in their own way,

knowing I am there, making

it all happen, taking

care to tidy me up,

anticipating

when I'll be needed next -

     

      short homework sessions,

      heads huddled in hushed tones, discussing

      living arrangements for Mom,

      usually morning coffee and pastry crumbs,

      board games in the loud.

 

Sometimes they need me for a late night

emergency. I got pounded

one time when the son called

to say he ran the car into a country ditch.

It wasn't personal,

just business.

 

I've been through it all with them,

be here for the many tomorrows.

Might lose a leaf, but

we'll adapt.

 

 

©Eusebeia Philos 2013

 

Written for dVerse Poets Meeting the Bar: Negative Capability as hosted by Anna Elizabeth Graham