Happy Thanksgiving Friends,
What a strange holiday season. I sincerely hope all my poet friends are well. This week's round-up is hosted at Carol's Corner. Thank you, Carol.
One of the poems shared on social media this week was Perhaps The World Ends Here, by Joy Harjo. It's a lovely poem especially as we gather around holiday tables. The fifth stanza's opening grabbed me. I felt a need to respond.
How about you?
Perhaps The World Ends Here
By Joy Harjo
The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.
The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.
We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.
It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women.
Response to Joy Harjo...
At This Table
We eat and talk
Sometimes, we are quiet
amongst junk mail, napkins,
and baseball caps
Mom has asked us a million times
to clear away.
These days, there is a plastic bucket
labeled with a sticky note
that reads dirty masks.
At this table we share
and memes from our phones.
We chat about school and work.
We pass the salt, we say please
and thank you, move plates aside
for games of cribbage.
At this table, we alternate between singing prayer
or, real prayer--a bare-bones
quick thanks for the very hungry.
At this table, we laugh and cry
or patch up fights.
Sometimes, rules are laid down
as sure as forks and knives.
At this table, we introduce
girlfriends or boyfriends
to the rest of us.
We are family
no matter who sits in a chair
to butter toast
blow out birthday candles
sweep up crumbs
of this delicious life.
(c) Linda Mitchell Thanksgiving '20 (draft)
|At this table we are grateful...mixed media card by Linda|