A covenant was made.
You trod on my soil.
You breathed my air.
Here, tonight,
I am having dinner.
The hall would have fit in
Many exuberant guests,
But I only see myself
And my toddler’s chair.
The table is set.
Cutleries in their neat order.
I sniff the folded serviette.
It is your very smell.
I sit and wait,
But the main course does not come.
Nor that glass of water.
With one last look
In the menu book,
I see that my choice is not there,
But my name is.
Nonetheless,
I sit up, feeling full
Then I signal and call,
“Can someone pass the dessert
Of two cinnamon rolls!”
I bite every crumb and morsel.
I savor every morsel and crumb.
Then I stand up and
Dig down my purse
To tip the waiter.
I wipe my lips one last time
With tear-stained serviette,
And with two steady hands
I push back in
My toddler’s sturdy chair.
Outside, the jealous moon stares
As I tread on my soil.
As I breathe my air.
