by Patrick Connors
The kitchen table
In the house where I grew up
Was wooden, cold and stained
Came apart in the middle
Like so many ruined meals
And other realities hard to digest
Silences which say more than words can say
Furtive glances the only I love you
Support incomplete, bond left unspoken
When we left the house where I grew up
The kitchen table stayed behind
But the dining room table came with us
A place to spend and fear the holidays
An anchor to hold us to our past
When we did not know how to be a family