Maple syrup disappears from the jug,
unboils, becomes sap sweetly feeding
butterflies in a forest far from here.
Pancakes unmix, eggs slurped up
into sturdy speckled shells left in our coop.
Flour forms back into grain on stalks
stretched in rows. Berries return to the bush,
barely a blush across their faces.
This tablecloth unwinds to threads on loom,
they dream of gowns
meant for dancing.
The table deconstructs
tongue from groove,
my son’s hands never cutting into
wood still standing in a grove of cherry trees.
This morning exists only as a fresh page
on a calendar dated far in the future,
its blank bright square yet unmarred.
Laura Grace Weldon is the author of poetry collections Blackbird (Grayson Books, 2019) and Tending (Aldrich Press, 2013), and as well as a handbook of alternative education titled Free Range Learning (Hohm Press, 2010). Her background includes teaching nonviolence workshops, writing collaborative poetry with nursing home residents, and facilitating support groups for abuse survivors. She works as a book editor and teaches community writing classes. Connect with her at lauragraceweldon.com.
© 2019, by Laura Grace Weldon
