For Thanksgiving Eve, one of my favorite poems ever, by Joy Harjo. Click the link to hear her read it.
Perhaps the World Ends Here
The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.
Perhaps the World Ends Here
The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.
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We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.
At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers.
This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun.
We have given birth on this table, and have prepared our parents for burial here.
Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.