Kitchen Table

Photo by André Robillard on Unsplash

It has taken many years of being married
to agreement, years of being divorced
from the he in the she of me,
to finally agree it’s alright to disagree,
alright to make a difference of opinion serve,
spreading it between us like a table,
pulling up a chair and leaning on it,
knowing it will take our weight, it will
take our words, brewed just like coffee
and downed to the last strong drop before
we get up, lovers again neighbourly.

Which is why I praise the kitchen table,
the generous block of polished wood
that holds us at its ends, the salt and pepper
in the middle, ready to be shaken over
this altar to our various hungers,
to which we bring the meat
of our accomplishments, thankful
for the click and clack of the other’s cutlery,
for the filled plate we can empty,
squeezing the grape, the lemon, glass raised,
the tang lingering, livening our tongues.

This poem first appeared in my chapbook, “Stealing Eternity”.

End of a Road

Fifty years it’s taken to get here
and the road’s all wrong:
the easy pavement with its white
sidewalks and marked shoulders,
the solid yellow line, cats-eyed,
ends

and everything I’ve passed by
at a distance
now leans in.

If life is a long walk down the aisle
to an altar,
then this must be the kiss
that lifts the veil,
loosening my tongue – willing or not –
to learn new vows.

This poem is from my chapbook, “Stealing Eternity”.