Tomorrow Repast

Tomorrow Repast 

 

The tablecloth lifts, white and spotless

floats down on the table she sets 

with burnt orange napkins rolled and

set in umber holders – white pottery

and clear crystal tumblers at each place

A vase of autumnal leaves - crisp vermillion 

mimic the three trees outside the front

window – sunlight streams through sky-

lights - Tomorrow is the day – 

of thanks – of gratitude – for all the 

tragedies that have not befallen – 

for the privilege unknown to others –

for all that has not been taken – as others

have lost forever more – she strains to

fill her inner cup with the gratitude of what

she has not had to endure – and yet –and yet -

A random melancholy thought falls over 

her as she surveys the gleaming floor –

inhales the good smells that the cleaners

have left – Yes, tomorrow is the day – the 

table is nearly set – yet, that thought floats

through again – perhaps – she muses she shall 

Place photographs of all once there – place them

Here, where they sat at each empty chair –

Remember the clink of glasses the passing of 

food-  the round about the table thanks given

The laughter, the love, the talk, oh the talk, 

tumbling like a water-fall into a clear stream  

Yes, perhaps she shall place a photograph at each 

empty chair and fill the space with something

beyond misty memory – as they sit down  

She and husband  

passing sweet potatoes, and tradition - 

smiling through the succulent sorrow of 

tomorrow.  

Gratitude must shine

for this

not small

wonder of

love and

largesse

for what is-

in mystic memory

of all that is not.