A handsome board in 1944
in clan of furniture they called a suite
our walnut table opened up to more
than eight, the matching chairs had padded seats.
In youthful days it served mountains of food
chicken, potatoes, bread, puddings with cream
then listened to us add and sound out words
cut crafts, and doodle pictures of the farm.
At thirty years it wandered from that place
a vagabond to circumstance it roamed.
It’s old and squeaky now, masks age with lace
lives near sis china cupboard in our home.
Content, I hope, though it has parted ways
with most of clan — like families these days.