An hour or so ago,
the family was here.
We ate and talked of school and politics, movies and summer plans.
Someone told a joke. Someone laughed. Someone got mad.
Everyone loaded the dishwasher.
It was the type of dinner I imagined
back when mealtime meant
sippy cups, peas thrown from highchairs,
and cut-off sandwich crusts.
They’ve scattered now.
Someone’s reading, someone’s biking, someone’s online.
Alone in the kitchen, I sponge the table and try not to think about the future,
when family dinner will be a thing for holidays, at best.
MaryRowen.com 
So true, so true
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Judith!
LikeLike
Cherish those moments Mary! A lovely poem to remember them forever! Love it!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Jan. I don’t write much poetry, but was feeling weepy the other night.
LikeLike
Ah, poignant, Mary! I find my mind straying there, too, these days.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Sarah. I hear you. Time is flying 😦
LikeLike
Ah, enjoy those moments! Our mealtimes usually consist of ‘yeugh, that looks yucky! I’m not eating that’ and imitating Minions or talking about Minecraft and being silly – the younger generation – and no, they are not that young, they just act like it. So none of the conversations I envisaged some day we were going to have… Ah well, a few more years to go and hope!
LikeLike
Thanks, MarinaSofia! Yeah, I guess we should appreciate all dinner conversation, whatever it may be! Silly, serious…it’s all good.
LikeLike