Memories Live Here
Her favourite table sat under a three bay window in her bedroom
in summer she opened the windows early
usually 6.30, enjoying her morning coffee
to the accompaniment of birds and insects
the not so distant highway muffled by a strand of thick untidy bush...
With the curtains pulled open
the morning sun filters onto the table
through an overhanging native tree
splashing in patchy patterns
that blended with the jumble of colour on the table’s top
Many years ago she had decoupaged the top
with photos of her family mixed up with other pictures
– trees, crystals, flowers, shaman, fish, frogs, and other earthy elements...
The table had become a good conversation starter
all who sat at it felt drawn into the story the pictures told
a tapestry that illustrated her beliefs
the things she felt passionate about,
an elucidation that spotlighted through her outer shell
and bared her soul for all to see...
As such the table was sometimes covered
for there were times...certain people... she didn’t share with
but not often...
some items permanently reside on the top...
a ceramic hand her daughter made her
that always holds a candle
yellow at the moment
layers of coloured wax dribble down over the hand
so much over the years that the hand has disappeared
She burns the candle every night
so family and friends see it flickering in the window
and know that she is home...
Many times she has had it burning through the day
her silent prayer to victims of brutality
or the wrath of nature
September 11 saw it burn for 11 days
Bali 8 days,
the tsunami of Christmas 2004-5
she had the candle burning for a week ...
Other things reside there
usually an assortment of pens, books and paperwork
her glasses, ashtray and more recently a mobile phone
The predictable cup of coffee is always there
in various states of warmth
along with her tobacco pouch...
As each morning progresses
the sun makes its way in a curving arch up the windows
until the crystals catch it
sprinkling rainbow reflections onto the table
and into the room...
Her cat, a fat black egocentric snob
likes the cool hard surface of the tabletop
and she has an on-going struggle with him
over his right to lay there...
She moves him several times a day
only to turn around and find him there
She moves him repeatedly until finally he gives in
going to sleep somewhere else
usually the wooden chest in the front room...
Friends have laughed and cried at the table...
Raged tirades at the injustices of the world
whispered secrets and shared life...
It has endured four moves and many different rooms
but always tells the same story-
welcome to those who sit with peace in their soul
good intentions in their heart
and an open unprejudiced mind...