The Table
Jul 12
1 min read
Updated: Sep 18
A poem about making room for the people and places that feel like home.
I think it just
comes down
to how you want
to spend
your time.
I don’t close
the door
on anyone
to be rude.
I open new doors
that lead me into
rooms where
I am free to be me.
Where I can laugh
from my belly
instead of
smiling from
my eyes.
Where I can
shed real tears
over some of
life’s fears.
Where I can say
the wrong thing
and be given
the chance
to get it right.
When I’m asked
how I want to spend
my one
wild and precious life?(M.Oliver)
I say,
"In rooms where
I feel the lightest,
and at tables
where
I never
have to wonder
if I belong.”