inspired by Edip Cansever’s poem ‘The table’
A woman full of dreams and occasional insecurities comes home
She spills the contents of her bag upon the floor
Book in one hand, she removes her scarf with the other and places them both on the floor too
She adds the joy of the movie that she shared last night with her daughter and the healing smoothness of honey on a raw, dry throat.
Cuddles with her son.
The odd adventure and some day trips with her loved one, the plans for household renovations and balmy evenings on the patio in summer.
With them on the floor, she places her retirement years
The goal – three score and ten plus a few more
The dog and two kittens are put there as well
She adds End Credits and 100 Days, laying them on the once shiny surface.
Twenty one times thirty nine plus what feels like a gazillion
Whatever that makes she throws it on the pile.
Along with the fear of having to work far too long; retaining nothing in the bank (or the tank) to see adventure in old age.
Shortages and a bleak outlook for winter that she didn’t choose
Years of never organised date nights
All these, she places there.
The floor bows and creaks under the weight but still she keeps on piling.
Health goals unfortunately paired with procrastination
Bright hair clips and her favourite boots
Bananas enveloped in thick batter then fried until their coat holds crisp against the gooey, sweet centre.
The floor, it visibly sags
But manages to hold the weight of all these things.
And so she squeezes herself in amongst them and sits down
Savouring on all sides, the heaviness of them pressing against her skin.
Poetry for Dullards 