Tonight, I had to pull the table out from the wall.
Simple fare: fresh green beans and
chicken from the house down the road,
lettuce, cukes and mushrooms from (I confess)
the grocer, and sale wine from Trader Joes;
laughter, love and three mothers
alternating verbal lassoes over three boys
so different, yet all loving Looney Toons,
bulldozers, trains and the baby doll.
My sisters, their sons, me and mine,
and our mother: so rare,
us all in the same city at the same time.
We feast at my square table,
our differences blend like a good sauce:
enhancing flavors, surprising us,
smoothing the edges of the old grievances.
We are together here,
at the table pulled out from the wall.