Table Not For Eating

Cousins and aunts brought dishes

and grands-their words, which
couldn’t be made out, their toys
to make a mess. At 7p.m.,
steam would flow up from the
pots being carried over
to the long dinner table.
Side chatting ended,
all was whole, every
Sunday. Soon, the same table
pushed off to the side, in dust,
became a holder of barely-used
appliances, activity space, a
board to iron on.
Laps became place mats and now
television makes us feel whole.
Cousins, aunt, and grands
all distant as times continue
to change. Only in memories
do we ever go back.