Sur la Table

When I was a child the table was a scary place.
I had stomach aches every day.
I was terrified of eating, pleasing my mother,
having to finish my food.
Bloody cuts of meat scared me.
I hated the harshness of the overhead kitchen light.
I hid my food in bite-sized bits
spit into an unending supply of white paper napkins
stashed under my plate.
My mother would wear lipstick & sunglasses to breakfast.
The scrambled eggs,
were they too bright?
She wore them so we couldn't see
that she had been crying
after a fight with my stepfather.
Usually we were fed by the maid.
Sundays my Grandparents came over from Brighton Beach for brunch.
Grandma brought honey-cake from the Avenue
with potato knishes bagels whitefish and lox!
We stayed at the table all day.
My stepfather was happy and he'd tell stories.
That was when I loved the table.