An Open Table
If I sit on the rocking chair
lean to one side and tilt my head
I see four scratches
in the wood floor—
not deep enough to drag
my fingernail through and feel a ridge
but seen in a slant of light—
a reminder of the evening
we needed fifteen place settings
for a family dinner
That night I spoke with one
who had shut off family years ago
and three I only knew by given names
When I sit in the rocking chair
and catch those scratches in the light
I hear their voices
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