table talk

Filling our home,

with aromas of spice.

It’s the end of the day;

pour some wine over ice.

He steps in late,

wearing work on his face.

A smile at the stove,

swiftly changes his pace.

All here spare the last

pair of feet on the floor.

Her glass waiting chilled,

behind the ‘frigerator door.

We dress up the table,

laying dishes in their space.

Petite dinner pillows,

the clams' last resting place.

In one bowl a caesar,

homemade dressing at that.

Next to it the veggies,

beside the pasta vat.

Mom dances through the door,

as dad pulls out her drink.

Then we all sit around;

sharing cheers with a clink!

The hum of our words

fill voids the meal won’t.

As we tend to our bellies;

our hearts make more hope.

Filled with the promise

that no matter how long,

hectic, stressful, or lame

the days may drag on,

we'll always have dinner,

to share with those close

the worries and woes

that make us their own host.