April 22 That Table

 

For many years, it sat

on her sun porch, 
a rarely visited spot filled with

stacks of old newspapers and magazines and

out of season geraniums.  There,  I found

her previously loved

taking-up housekeeping

center of her life,

heart of her kitchen table.

It was long-ago painted white, 

but worn clean from washing and scrubbing,

with edges covered with evidence of

abandonment as time and tastes moved on.

"Sure, take it," she said of the old table

Likely shaking her head, wondering why

anyone would want that Sears Roebuck

catalog gift for newlyweds with nothing but hope.

I adopted it as a tween to use as a base for

sewing, writing, hoping. 

Painted now in trendy antique red,

it spent an era in my bedroom, 

where it's edges were covered in threads

as a heart of my dreams table.

"Sure you can take it," she said

as I left that home, a newlywed myself

with little but hope. It was

repurposed as a kitchen table for

meals, discussions. 

Painted a trendy yellow,

worn thin from pasta and elbows.

Time past, again, it was

repurposed as a computer table.

Painted brown, it

celebrated it's centennial birthday and

produced a dissertation

before a well-earned retirement in a garage.

Holding left over training wheels,

scraps of wood, wayward nuts, and sagging

with age, it is still holding scraps of life.