Tuesday, June 21, 2011

Poem: The Dinner Table

The Dinner Table

The table is set and quiet
as the sun outside falls behind the quarry walls,
its weak orange light flickering like fire in the windows.

You good china sits silently,
waiting perhaps for good company, or
a lover to come in the night,

and sip spring wine with you in candle light,
soft and kind like memory,
softening all it touches

with grace and warmth. You wait,
silent as silverware, for your company,
not knowing who will arrive

and whether the dinner conversation
will sparkle, or fly with sparks,
and you are left with the anticipation

of a child whose father drinks into the night,
a nervous sort of anticipation
half wonderment, half dread,

counting somehow on the fine china
and gentle light to make things


The photograph is of my dining room at Quarry House. You can click on it for a larger version.



Margie said...

A beautiful poem to go with your beautiful dining room!
I so enjoyed this!

Margie :)

gingerhillery@mac.com said...

That poem makes me feel sad.

Margie said...

Tom, reading this again and there is sadness here but you expressed it just right!
You nare a wonderful poet!
Read it too quickly before.