The Kitchen Table and Thanksgiving

Perhaps The World Ends Here

 The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.

The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.

We chase chickens or dogs away from it.  Babies teethe at the corners.  They scrape their knees under it. 

It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women.

At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers.

Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our children. They laugh with us at our poor falling down-selves and as we put ourselves back together once again at the table.

This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun.

Wars have begun and ended at this table.  It is a place to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate the terrible victory.

We have given birth on this table, and have prepared our parents for burial here.

At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and remorse. We give thanks.

Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen  table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.

 This poem by Joy Harjo seemed appropriate somehow for this Thanksgiving.

Our sons at the Thanksgiving table in our house in Kykotsmovi Arizona

Making cookies with my cousin at the kitchen table in my grandparents’ farm house

My father in-law serving up gravy for perogies while holding our son at the kitchen table in their home.

My son and his cousins puzzling at their grandparents’ kitchen table

My husband and son playing chess at our kitchen table in Hong Kong

Coloring Easter eggs around the kitchen table with my mom

Celebrating my birthday at the kitchen table with my sister and brother

My husband and our niece at the Thanksgiving table at my brother and sister-in laws’ 

Other posts………


Family Thanksgiving

Cooking Together

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