At the Small Table

When I catalogue my regrets
at the end of the day,
I won’t include the moments we spent sitting
at the small table in the living room.

The old-fashioned fire whistle,
remnant of summoning volunteers
across the town,
punctured our long silence —

you picked up your head only briefly
from the sea-blue magic marker
before returning to your work,
tongue pressed in concentration
against your cheek.

We laughed gently about
a pair of dogs we could see
through the window
and across the street
jostling in the slanted afternoon sun.

You asked me not to leave —
yet there was never any chance;
my movement only a reach to the floor
for the morning’s leftover mug and a
sip of luke-warm coffee.

9 thoughts on “At the Small Table

  1. brenda

    this pine tree by the rock
    must have its memories too:
    after a thousand years,
    see how its branches
    lean toward the ground ~Ono No Komachi

    my morning memories fill the small corner of the south-facinig sunroom…the only regret I have is the ending of these mornings as life’s demands call me, “Cut wood, carry water before enlightenment. Cut wood, carry water after enlightenment.”

    Thank you for sharing your creative gift. Be well….

    Reply

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