poetry 16 Jan 2008 10:36 am
patina
I will build myself a table.
A solid one, of warm wood, from dead trees that once helped me breathe,
and now will lie down, planed smooth to a sheen,
with my babes all around.
For “our table” was really “her table” and so returns to him,
locked away from me now,
and I will not wait.
I see all things, even old things, pass away.
And blessedly, there can be made new, at the dawn of another life.
It will be my table, from my hands,
and that of my father.
It will help me to breathe.
So I will gather them to it, my babies, my loves,
and set flowers upon the center,
and never a cloth….
For old trees are aged and speak if you listen;
tell of knots and scars and lines on it’s face,
just like I have on mine.
So I will build myself a table,
and invite you to sit.
And we’ll breathe and eat and laugh and love.
Dead trees have new lives, and so shall I.
on 16 Jan 2008 at 12:42 pm 1.Beth said …
Wow, great poem, and great idea.
on 16 Jan 2008 at 1:40 pm 2.gigi said …
You will have your ‘table’ again, Tia and your loved ones around it.I pray it will be soon.God answers prayers in His time and way.
on 16 Jan 2008 at 1:47 pm 3.Sarah said …
Wow! That was really powerful, Tia.
A toast to your new table!
on 16 Jan 2008 at 3:07 pm 4.Sandy said …
Nice writing! I love how it flows and the depth of emotion expressed so simply.
on 17 Jan 2008 at 9:02 am 5.gina said …
This is great- I’m always praying for you. Take care!
on 18 Jan 2008 at 6:52 am 6.Lissa said …
How beautiful. The writing, the strength, the determination.
on 24 Jan 2008 at 10:08 am 7.Living-Deliberately.com » How To Build A Table said …
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on 06 Mar 2008 at 4:09 pm 8.Susan said …
Beautiful; the table, the poem, you.
Susan