She's a realist,
solid to the bottom
of her antique hardwood legs;
she knows she can't go back
to that English dining room
with its handpainted screen
and the china plates
displayed on the wall.
She knows she'll be braced
by cheap pine boards
to the end of her days,
her leaves wedged in place,
her surface scarred
by scissors, glue, scalding pots.
But she would like company:
a set of matching chairs
that have something to say,
a family working together
on a 2000-piece puzzle,
or just a young tablecloth
that someone ironed for her.

(First published in Red Rock Review)

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