I read today that in case of an earthquake I shouldn't run but instead huddle under a piece of furniture. I pick the old oak table seats twelve with the extensions and we've had that many, Google keeps feeding me images of family birthdays, Easter, holidays, craft days where the wood was covered by paper and glue and ribbon, game days with pieces spread out, laughing faces and puzzle days omg so many puzzles have been put together on this old table. But there have been quiet days as well, my mother working under the clip-on lamp perfectly painting the lips on a miniature baby, weaving strings of wicker into a pram, my daughter painting sparkle glue onto snowman cards at Christmas, my friend Kris weeping as she glued photos of her dog Logan into a memory book. It can't be stored, given the nature of its pedestals, we tried once and the whole thing curled into itself, so we quickly pulled it from the basement, secured the top to the bottom and made a promise - the table will always be the table, rarely bare, or polished but covered in life. Makes sense in case of disaster that is should cover me.
This is poem #7 in my poem-a-day writing. It’s apparent to me that most of my poems are more like journal entries than anything else! The photo shows the table covered (and surrounded) with life 38 years ago.
What a wonderful picture, Jude, and what a wonderful poem.
Poets are fortunate in the kind of "crafting" we can do with our memories and even our journal writing. Look what I made out of that ...!