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From The Table
Have you ever given any thought to the profound impact that "the table" has
had on civilization?
From the “Last Supper” to the Board Room, the table has brought us
together since time immemorial whether it be for communion, resolution, power
or nourishment it seems it has always been there for humanity.
As a young lad, I remember the many things, aside from our daily family meals,
that transpired at the table in our home from home work, science projects, playing
games, visiting with relatives & friends or mourning of the death of a loved
one.
I remember my Mother and I having a conversation once in regard to the table
at our table. She pointed out that years before, when America was much more of
an agrarian culture, how the table was much more of a central point in the home.
Having grown up on a farm in Iowa during “The Great Depression”,
the table was used for many things such as folding the family’s laundry,
canning vegetables from the Summer’s Harvest, even a few tooth extractions
from some of her younger siblings.
About a year after my Mom’s death, I was on my daily trip to the country
Post Office. I had developed the habit of going at the same time every day so
I could listen to the daily installment of “The Writers’ Almanac” on “NPR” on
my car’s radio. While driving one day, a poem was read. I was so moved
that I had to pull the car off to the side of the road to wipe the tears from
my eyes. Was it the poem or was the fact that I was still mourning the death
of my Mother? Perhaps it was both, but that poem has remained with me and has
been one of my favorites for more than ten years, now.
Once I had arrived back home, I began the frantic search for this poem which
took me nearly four years. I remember telling many people about this experience
imploring them that if they ever had any ideas as to how or where I might find
more information about it, to kindly get back with me. Then, finally, while surfing
the internet one day, I went to “Minnesota Public Radio’s” web
site and found the poem in a wave file which had eluded me for so long just waiting
for me there.
I also discovered the poet’s name. I did an internet search and found that
she, Joy Harjo, was a Native American, member of the Muskogee Tribe of Oklahoma
now living in Arizona raising horses & still writing poetry. I decided to
call her.
I apologized for the intrusion but, felt compelled to call her and tell her how
much I loved her poem and thanked her for writing it. We talked a good while
and before ending the call I asked her if I could share the poem with as many
people as I could perhaps even printing it on my menus. She laughed and said
that would be fine as long as I would treat her to a meal if we ever were to
meet. I gratefully agreed.
I have yet to meet Ms. Harjo in person however, I still look forward to preparing
dinner for her some time.
And I am sill sharing her beautiful poem which, to my thinking, epitomizes this
profound sense of the table for me:
“Perhaps the World Ends Here”
The world begins at a kitchen table
No matter what, you must eat to live
The gifts of Earth are brought in, prepared and set on the table
So it has been since creation
And so it will go on
We chase chickens and dogs away from it
Babies teethe at the corners
They scrape their knees under it
It is here that children are given instruction
On what it means to be human
We make men at it
We make women
At this table, we gossip
Recall enemies in 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 pull 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 from 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 with suffering and remorse
We give thanks
Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table
While we are laughing and crying,
And eating at the last sweet bite.
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