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The Table

Majella Cullinane


I washed it down,
placed a bowl of fruit
at its centre,

we are not lonely.

I spread my life across its wood,
not in supplication –
I have no prayer beads,

but as if to hold me
each object is an archipelago –

books, pens, flowers, paper
all reaching for each other

and for whatever it is
that is unyielding.

 


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