The table was made of wood of unknown origin.
Sanded and planed with textures and knots,chips and crevices that have been picked at by uncaring hands.
The color of the table was indecipherable,
perhaps the color of tears poured in anguish or the color of laughter,
of conversation,songs sung,secrets told,anouncements made,toasts drunk to and spilled.
Babies have been changed on it's surface,
Arms have been cut while leaning upon it supporting the need to feel.
Letters written,meals shared and eaten alone,
Tempers have flared at it's edges,fists drawn in anger,points made by hitting it's surface as if it were the other.
Decisions made,lines drawn like grains in the wood,
long lines drawn and promises broken.
I am sure as I sit as this table I hear whispers of it all,
babies,tears,love,pain,
sharing each a knot,a scratch,a patina so tactile I want to touch those whispers and feel them sift through my fingers,
Memories all,proof that we were,
That I am..............