‘what is eaten at the table for conversation will determine the digestion of the world’s table.’
   the teacher. . . 

After The Gathering. . . .

I take the lemon wax and spray and wipe
to a fine polish, the table where food and
love have been served.
I take the memories from the last gathering and
camp them in a new place, to be taken out
in another time by those whose work it is
to be keeper of memories.

The table has changed places
as have the memories.
It is in place now and already others
have seated and supped.
New memories are being shaped
by those whose need within is
a hunger to touch places
too long isolated.

It is for each we do this.
We bring together our selves
for the fine art of fleshing out
the canvas where we have painted
our lives to create a memory
for a world where none was before.

The memory will be our proof that we came and were.