A poem about what it means, or should mean, to have a place at the table.
A Place at the Table Fred Marchant
It means you can face your accusers.
It means there is no place to hide.
It means you will not drift off to sleep,
or carve your name on your arm.
Or give anyone here the finger.
It means you do not have to wave your hand as if you were drowning.
It means there is nothing here that will drown you.
It means you really do not have to have the answer.
Since there are only a few of you left, sitting across from you,
it means you can study their faces as you would the clouds outside.
You will not totally forget them.
It means you are now, roughly, for a while, just about equal.
In the center before you there is nothing unless someone gives it.
It means that when you are gone, everyone feels it.
It means that when you leave, you feel as if you haven’t.
That you still have a place at the table.
Later in your life this moment will return to you as a mote
of dust that floats in on the spars of sunlight.
It will search every room until it finds you.