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Our Little Round Table
We had a little round table in the corner of our kitchen,
With three chairs and a high chair:
His, mine, our young son’s, and our baby daughter’s.
My husband and I sat across from each other,
Our feet bare and entwined beneath the table.
I buttered his bread – refreshed his glass – and never thought behind or beyond the hour.
It was an inexpensive, wooden table,
The only one at the time we could afford.
Its top was of wood-grained plastic.
Our son sat at it and wrote his school-words,
And I drew my pictures.
My husband balanced our checkbook and paid our bills there, as well.
It was a multi-purpose table.
That table didn’t go with us when we moved away.
A long and costly rectangular table took its place,
And beneath it, my husband and I couldn’t reach each other’s feet anymore,
And eventually each other’s minds,
And finally each other’s hearts.
We should have kept our little round table.
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