Small Spaces

When we moved into this house, soon
it became clear: we could learn to live
with the uneven spackle on the ceiling,
without doors for the built-in closets.

And soon we realized our heavy 
dining table, even without the removable 
leaf, barely fit in the dining room. 
Those who sat on one side had their backs 

right up to the wall, and those on the other 
could lean their arms on the counter. We sold 
the table and bought instead a smaller, plainer 
one which freed up some space, just a little. 

But how happy we were to find our coffeetable 
in a dusty corner of a thrift store— for a song, 
as they say: solid wood, only scratched in two 
places. What is furniture after all but the props 

in a play for which we've had no rehearsals; 
or little spots of color where we'll put up our feet 
at night? We invite students to join us at Thanksgiving, 
friends for potlucks. There isn't much space but there's

rice and bread; so many stories, savory things. Someone 
always brings dessert. Whatever the next act, it's bound 
to be interesting. So much in the world is terrible; 
but here, I don't want any of it to end yet.