Reflections

A few words helped me feel like I was enough. Every Friday evening, there is a table that fills itself. Plates appear. Candles get lit. Someone asks if the salad needs dressing. I help set plates and silverware, fill the “glug jug” with water, clear dishes when the main course is finished. I’ve been doing…

I bought my grumpy Urbana friend a new journal, and wrote this poem to put inside the front cover.