Another Piece of Cake
(“Let your speech always be with grace,
seasoned with salt, that you may know how you should answer everyone.”
Colossians 5:6)
Once the table is set and the soup is poured
we talk between sips of warmth and hope.
We haven’t talked this way since they siphoned off
the last bit of joy that once ran like honey.
Between sustenance and governance we stubbornly
held our ground even while our ground was sinking.
Now, with no more arguments left, we sit nervously,
almost bereft,
and our emptiness opens us to rounder words that
fit our hearts more evenly. Food makes us family,
the first course was served before we knew each other
at all.
And now,
perhaps the last course,
can be shared with no expectations at all. There is
always another chair at the table.
The next day we just might
sit outside. I watched, looking down my gravel driveway,
to see if you liked my invitation.
I peered through the knothole, the question mark
in the middle of my fence,
to see if, after our Monday evening repast,
we could paint a backyard portrait on Tuesday,
carried across the street on the
grill smoke from a half dozen neighbors.
There is always room for you on the patio.
There is always another piece of cake.
