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 tocelebrate 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 – Joy Harjo
(From “The Woman Who Fell from the Sky: Poems” by Joy Harjo, Poet Laureate)
The kitchen table is the center of our life. I love this poem , thank you for sharing it.
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Gerlinde, I was hoping you would see this poem. When I first read it I thought immediately of you, your recipes, enjoyment of cooking, and of your family recipes. You are most welcome.
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Lovely poem, Penny! The kitchen table has usually been the center of my family. In our old house, it was in the center of the house.
What is that dish being served? Looks so yummy!
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The poem resonated with me when I first read it, still does, as the kitchen table has always been the center of my life as well. I’m not surprised that it was so with you, L. Marie – and actually in the center of the house. Love it.
Ah – that’s a go-to recipe in colder weather. I usually use chicken thighs, but, wanted to use up some chicken breasts, which are seasoned, browned, then broth and whatever white wine I have leftover, potatoes – and spinach, which are then roasted. It is, for sure, yummy. Thanks for asking.
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Everything I want in a dish! Sooo good. It reminds me of coq au vin in a way, though that dish usually has carrots, mushrooms, and bacon, rather than spinach. Also a burgundy is used. Will have to make this dish someday.
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Yes. It is reminiscent of coq au vin. The spinach adds a different flavor. It uses up so much spinach, however, as I use fresh and it withers up to almost nothing. I think you might like this, L. Marie.
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so right, and wonderful poem
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Thanks, Beth. I resonated with me in so many ways.
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Thanks for sharing this beautiful poem, Penny!
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You are very welcome, Jill.
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I love this. I remember so many things about the tables in my life. My Grandmother Addie’s claw foot drop leaf table. I used to sit under it to dust and polish the intricate legs. It is at my sister’s house still. I have my Mom and Dad’s small blonde wooden dinette set that I grew up with. It became Dad and Glenna’s and then my sister’s and finally landed with me. I love it! I am soon to bring home Dad and Glenna’s bigger, fancier table and chairs. Looking forward to having friends and family gather around that one.
Tables have a way of making memories.
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Oh, Janet, how wonderful. The tables in your life are still a part of yours and Linda’s and are making generations of memories. My cousin has my Yia Yia’s dining room table, which is good and right, as she is the only one who remembers actually eating at it. 🙂 Our table – it hold so many memories.
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❤❤❤ If nothing else, Penny, your friendship has definitely exposed me to some lovely poetry. This is wonderful, and brings lots of memories to mind. Thank you for sharing it.
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I am delighted to hear that, Karen. 🙂 This poem spoke to me in such memorable ways and I knew I would share it. You are very welcome.
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I have long seen the kitchen as the heart of the house, and the table being its most valued and meaningful centre.
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I imagine you would, Friko. Your kitchen table laden with stories and history of your home. I hope you are doing well.
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How meaningful this poem is, Penny! I read it with a lump in my throat. I have boxes of photos with our family gatherings around the tables of grandparents long gone, parents either no longer with us or decades younger, and my own kitchen or dining room table filled with wonderful memories. Thank you for some precious memories my friend.
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So happy that you think so, Debra. It touched me in many ways that I just had to share it here.
I hope all is well with you and your family.We are praying for all those in the way of the fires.
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A table knows so much. This poem left me wondering what your table would say if it could speak, Penny.
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Oh, Juliet, I’m sure it could tell many stories and recall many who have eaten around it, done homework, baked, pondered . . .
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This is absolutely wonderful! I wonder how many are born on the kitchen table now? Probably none. My daughter-in-law was on a soft piece of furniture when she gave birth at home. My Godson was born in a bed. Maybe they didn’t have linens enough in the old days? My cousin just told me our grandfather delivered her father on the table because the doctor couldn’t get there. 1917. Amazing to think of. Thank you so much for the poem. It got me thinking about so many things.
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You are very welcome, Nan, and what a story your cousin just told you and one that probably happened more than not, especially 100 years ago or more ago. My mother and father were both born at home, as were most of their siblings – not all. This poem really called to me and I had to share it. I’m loving reading of others table stories.
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Dear Penny, thank you for sharing this poem. It’s wisdom touches the core of who we all are. It reminded me of a book I read–maybe back in the 1990s: “Kitchen Table Wisdom.” (Or something like that.) Poets, it seems to me, see far and wee into the essence of what being human means. And you so often share with us the wisdom you find in your reading. Thank you for being such a generous bridge between the written page and our hearts. Peace.
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You are most welcome, Dee. At your mention, I am remembering a “Kitchen Table Wisdom” type book. I’ll check my shelves as it rings a bell. I like your assessment of what poets see. They seem to condense, pare down, and go to the soul of the matter. Joy Harjo’s poem resonated with me and I wanted to share it with all of you. Peace, my friend.
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What a thought provoking poem. “Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table…”
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I thought so as well, Janet. I am enjoying getting to know Joy Harjo’s poetry.
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