The Kitchen Table

Anonymous

Sitting on this creaky wooden chair,

The one that my feet couldn’t touch the ground for most of my life.

That has been shown so much love,

Thank you for holding me all these years, despite me kicking you around. This is the kitchen table.

It is marked, signed, permanently etched,

From all the years of homework between the three of us.

Here you can see the math equations sunken through paper to wood, Poems, essays, outlines, scribbles,

I forgot how bad my handwriting was.

Here’s my mom’s grocery list

And there’s my father’s Sunday to-do list.

My brother practicing mom’s signature,

For his failed math test.

Some evidence cannot be destroyed.

Memories that have fleeted from my mind,