Joy Harjo's poem,
Perhaps the World Ends Here,
brings home the sense of family we feel
when sitting around the kitchen table
.....or any table for that matter.
A Table where family and good friends
gather to eat and catch up
with whatever is happening
in their day to day lives ....
Or a place to find solace,
to work, to read, to sip tea
and catch up with oneself.
PERHAPS THE WORLD ENDS HERE by Joy Harjo
The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what,
we must eat to live.
The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table.
So it has been since creation, and it will go on.
We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe
at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.
It is here that children are given instructions on what
it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women.
At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts
of lovers.
Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms
around our children. They laugh with us at our poor
falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back
together once again at the table.
The table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella
in the sun.
Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place
to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate
the terrible victory.
We have given birth on this table, and have prepared
our parents for burial here.
At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow.
We pray of suffering and remorse.
We give thanks.
Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table,
while we are laughing and crying,
eating of the last bite.
I've written about the kitchen table of my childhood here and posted On The Table here . Perhaps there's a message for me in these posts.