i moved a table into the kitchen
covered it with a tablecloth
and thought, this feels right
realizing later
that grandma covered her kitchen table

how i remember her white, wrinkled fingers
reaching for the mayonnaise
or ‘dressing’ as she called it
her fingers etched with hard work and mischief
how we’d sit on a Saturday afternoon and eat lunch
just sandwiches, chips, and pickles
and it felt like everything in life was alright

i eat my sandwich now and remember her
Christmas is gone, and she is too
but the table remains

and i sit here at my tableclothed table
eating my pickle
feeling like a queen

and honoring one

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Happy New Year!! 🥳

If you’ve liked what you’ve read, check out my poetry book Walking in Cemeteries available for purchase here.