This poem by Joy Harjo seems appropriate for this strange Thanksgiving Day:
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. Copyright © 1994 by Joy Harjo. Used by
permission of W.W. Norton & Company, Inc., www.wwnorton.com.
Source: The Woman Who Fell From the Sky (W. W. Norton and
Company Inc., 1994)
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