John Harms
ENG 294
Fall 1998

A Table of Memories

From some odd thought,
one slow night,
I go back to the place
where I had been so few times.

It's very busy inside.
I order a raspberry mocha.
A tall one, please.
Now to find a place to sit in this crowded coffee shop.

The only open table is one I remember well.
It was the table where I had sat
to meet somebody new,
to make a friend, who later became a lover.

I remember:

But that one day
influenced many more to follow.

I'm sitting where he sat that day.
But I'm not sure if he'll ever sit here again,
with or without me,
for he has moved away.

Six months left behind without regret.
Time is nothing, at least nothing much.
The table where I now sit
on this slow night
It is the table of memories.
Was it keeping itself open for me?