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Table – Reserved.

I am a table
Draped In crocheted mantel
Handmade by my mothers – the most colorful dish ware,
Sugar Skull Salt & Pepper Shakers,
Place mats embroidered with flowers – waiting to serve.
Table full of food
Birria and agua de piña,
Waiting to feed those that are hungry.
Full hearts come to rest here;
Abuelitas stories come alive right here
And so do her dichos
And her regaños when she learns of you giving an amigo “derechos”

I must remind my diners –
That you must eat until you’re full
Do not leave this table even after food is
No longer being served
Gather here to rest your soul
Let the act of consumption
Fill you up with more than just food,
Let there be wisdom / And love / And comfort / And grieving / And rejoicing / And forgiving / And explaining/  And retaining of the best nutrients of life.

I am more than just
A table.
I am a home.
Sustenance.
Food for thought.
Mother. Lover. Giver.

You – Sit at my table.
Eyes lit up while waiting to eat,
Caressing my crocheted covers,
Admiring the silverware
And taking inventory of what’s being served.
Your hungry mouth waters.
Reminds you of a familiar place,
And you yearn to stay.

You pray – Give thanks to The Heavenly Father
For blessing you with such abundance.
And pray for the lack thereof for others / Pray for poor souls / Pray for hungry mouths to be fed / Pray for empty hearts to be full / Pray for the lost to find their home.
And then some.

You wait –
Hesitant to eat –

This food might not be good.
This food might make me sick.
This food is not for me.
This table is not my home,
I cannot eat here.

You cannot enjoy my food
Without repentance.

To indulge in me must be blasphemy
All that God has warned you of
I am the Apple tree where Eve ate in vain
Indulged the sweet taste of the crisp and juicy fruit
Am I the snake who told her to eat that in the first place? 
I am. Aren’t I?


You must think of me – broken
Hanging on by a screw,
Waiting to give out at any given moment
Collapsing from all that I carry
Existing for the sake of others
Waiting on lovers –
Hand and feet.
Eat on me!
I am a table!

Man! Do you forget that I am woman?
Forget that I am wolf?
Forget that I am cradle AND vessel?
Half moon / Half sun / Half ocean / Half earth / Gives birth to more than just human life?
Forget that I can destroy it, too?

If God was a woman,
We wouldn’t need to repent.
For women know
How to heal from past hurts / How to share stories of growth /How to uplift the down and out / How to carry and give
To those who may not even
Deserve to reserve the table their sitting at in the first place

Is this why you pray before you eat on me?
For using a privilege that was never earned,
So you even don’t know if you deserve me?



I am a table.

Reserved by you.
Waiting on you
Until you’re ready to eat.
My food will turn cold eventually.
And only God knows,
Of the hunger
That will grow within you.

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