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The Dinner Table

My life is a dinner table
the past; empty glasses
the present; those semi-full plates,
filled with a bountiful feast
the future; the unturned silverware,
ready to be used, unsure of which to decide upon

A child appears, humming a tune
pulls the white cloth from the table,
that has sheltered you for so long

There you are,
beneath the table

You were there all along.





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Megan D. This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Nov. 7, 2009 at 3:41 pm
I love the imagery, and for some reason I found the ending very dissarming
Gorgeous
 
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