I sat at the kiddie table for 25 years
before being lifted by an extra leaf.
How strong my desire to settle there,
to rest in this place of adulthood.
But I couldn’t keep pace—
their saying so little
with a wind of many words.
What could I do
but pass the cheesy potatoes,
hand over the bean casserole—
everything circling counterclockwise
until we forget what we’re after
like grandma who went to the kitchen
and returned empty-handed?
Perhaps all that matters is the weather,
the score from Sunday’s game.
Maybe the borderlands are a territory
from which we cannot return.
Copyright © 2019 by AJ Saur, from Set A Flame (Murmuration Press).
Eighth Day Aches 