What possessed us to first buy
this dining table, then look
for a home with a dining area
large enough to accommodate it?

At the apartment, a door placed
on two bench-horses, served well
for our meals. At Christmas, we sat
family and friends at dinner—red
and gold fringed tablecloth under
an elaborate spread—our guests
could not guess they sat around
a door singing Christmas carols.

We didn’t set out to buy a large table.
It found us, like an orphan puppy.
We just had to have it. A floor sample
for an entire banquet, spread out
on five panels. Scandinavian teak
with golden warmth flowing through
its entire length of solid bronzed wood—
an elliptical marvel on display

resting on four strong legs—bound
by molded trim defining its bold lines
and curvature—our Norse thoroughbred.
Then we downsized. The table dismantled,
additional leaves put away, reduced
to a smaller elliptical, or sometimes
a circular configuration, still holding
its charm and warmth. Its knots and grain,

my constant reminders of long-lasting
value and integrity. My circle of friends
gather at the table to read together
or share a homemade meal, stay chatting

till food runs dry on empty plates.
I find this comforting—very comforting.

First published on willowglenpoetry