Perhaps the World Ends Here
by Joy Harjo
The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.
The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.
We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.
It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women.
At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers.
Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our children. They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back together once again at the table.
This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun.
Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate the terrible victory.
We have given birth on this table, and have prepared our parents for burial here.
At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and remorse. We give thanks.
Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.
"Perhaps the World Ends Here" from The Woman Who Fell From the Sky by Joy Harjo.
I found this poem at poetryfoundation.org. I can't remember if I first read it on someone else's blog or on the Writer's Almanac. Such great words to think about as we gathered for feasts, conversations, and games.
Grandma's Thanksgiving table, my boys, and lefse!
Many, many games of Scrabble - my mom's favorite game
My parents don't have a computer, thus no internet, and the farm is in one of those black hole voids where you can't get cell service. We played board games, talked to each other, and watched several Christmas movies.
My sister and I made lefse.
Try to roll it so thin that you can see the words through the dough.