The Dining Table

The winter sun slants crossways into the shop front
full of other peoples junk and memories.
The smell of old leather from jackets and saddles
of old milk churns and blackened stoves.

Small delicate saucers surround the space
forks lined up like ballet dancers circling the table top.
Old records, cameras, old chairs
circle the huge warehouse and stare centre stage.

Then, a table, heavy and carved moves into view
Chairs relined and scratched with long ago hands
snuggle under the skirt of intricate carvings
the dark wood heavy and marked, calling out.

Touching the top with its miriad of momentos
a sense of time gone, family worn, death and pain
Of happy times, parents at either end
scowling at belligerent children to chide.

The curved legs of table and chair make an artistic sight.
Echoes of moving legs, in out, flopping down upon.
Tears rise unexpected with the spirit of the piece.
A sense of happiness, of tension, of loss.