Around the Table
The seven us, packed
tightly around the kitchen table,
laden with garden
veggies and meat from field or stream,
sat in our designated
places at dinner and supper
and had lively
conversations about how the day went.
I always leaned my
chair back on two legs.
Mom told me to stop or
I’d fall, but I never did.
My three older sisters
moved out one summer.
It got quiet at our
house with just my little sister and me.
That year, our church
hired a summer youth pastor.
We took turns having
him over for supper each week.
We chatted calmly
around the table, with elbow room.
Then one week my three
sisters came home for a visit.
We squeezed the pastor
in and I’ll never forget his face.
His head bobbed trying
to keep up with the conversation.
His eyes wide, he wore
a half-dazed expression as if he
wondered what kind of hurricane
was passing through.
There’s nothing like
big family noise around the table.
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