Kitchen Table

The world begins at the Kitchen Table. No matter what, we must eat to live.

Presents from the universe are bought , brought and prepared. Set on the Table. Its been so since creation and it will go on. Chase puppy eyes away from it, babies teethe at its corners. They scrape their knees under it. Stub of toes.

Its here children are given instructions on life and humanity. We make men at it, women, grown. Over wooden planks we gossip, recalling enemies and the ghosts of lovers past. Our dreams drink coffee with us. 

As we put arms around their children, Laughing with us at our depressed selves.. All the while putting ourselves back together around this Table.

This Table a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun. 

Wars are started and finished.

A place to hide from the terrors of life, a place to celebrate the terrible victories. At this Table we sing joy, prayer for the suffering and remorse, new birth. Have prepared for parents burials, with sorrow and refreshing light.. we give thanks.

Perhaps the world will end at the Kitchen Table.. One can hope while we laugh and cry, eating of the last sweet bite.

 

Its just a Kitchen Table

Matthew Neele