Thursday, November 23, 2017


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.

This 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 sweet bite.


It Snowed All Night

May all be well with thee and thine dear Friends


Nancy said...

Man oh Man Michelle! Love this!

jude said...

that was wonderful

Anonymous said...

What a great poem! Thanks for sharing Michelle.

Anonymous said...

Beauty and bounty through your grace of selection. Thank you!

Unknown said...

And at the table, the Eucharist (which is the Greek word for "Thanksgiving" is consecrated and shared. Looks like you celebrated a divine Thanksgiving in the other Mass.

Ms. said...

Just to be clear Michael Beiser...All the photos are from Thanksgiving in Massachusetts 2014...sadly I was laid up in bed from the 14th on to today the 29th with a tenacious and exasperating flu/cold/bronchitis (((sigh)))