The Kitchen Table
The Kitchen Table
I think of unbounded imaginings.
An apartment in a small town,
and there you are at the kitchen table,
whose chairs are ageless and limitless.
There is smoke in the air usually.
My brother and I remember this haze,
which envelops and beautifies you.
Seated on the cushioned kitchen chair.
Visions of yesterday are easy to our minds
when we access this focal point.
Your judgement seat, your resting place,
even your raison d'etre.
I sometimes must sit at my own
kitchen table to do paperwork.
To think about your meaning.
The white kitchen clock
was on the blue wall,
but it wasn't something for you to follow,
to abide by.
You got us off to school.
You advised us.
Your kitchen chair being your place of power.
A woman, plainspoken and fair, at the kitchen table,
who made us happy.
A cup of coffee, soda, TV guides, newspapers, opened mail,
a ham sandwich, singles or a five-dollar bill at your side.
This kitchen table we looked at.
We are glad you were content.
Life's importance connects to this kitchen table.
No task was too big or small.
You taught us the common sense of life at this table.
So, the rest of reality is left to us.
© fredko - all rights reserved.


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frederic
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Synopsis
By now, after so much writing, I know this qualifies for feminist writing. However, I like to think of my work as more universal. We can all find a message in it.
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