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The pine table
with warm, amber wood, holds the books that did not
make the best seller's list. At least until the store decided to
change its layout. How fortunate for the poor bookseller,
who takes it to the sparse apartment he shares with his
young wife. They place it in the corner of the small kitchen
along with metal framed chairs.
More than meals are eaten here. At times its surface is
softened by layers of terry cloth to receive a crying baby,
pink-sweet from a bath in the kitchen sink. Some days, a
sprinkling of flour is cast before the kneading of bread
dough into pillowy forms. Late at night it witnesses the
wife's creased brow as the scratch of a pen balances the
checkbook.
The glow of varnish wears away from years of bleach
water. A frustrated child gouges the alphabet into the soft
wood. Eventually, it too is not enough to support the
family. In a moment of inspiration, the legs are sawn
in half, diminishing its height to child's play: toy cars and
tea parties. But the role is short lived as a proper play
table is purchased.
Surrounded by reading chairs and the piano, it rests in the
sitting room. Again, it bears the weight of many books.
sunny window --
across the morning headlines
a cat naps
Esin Goldman
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Born in the mountains of North Carolina, Esin Goldman has spent most of
her life surrounded by the beauty of the Florida Panhandle. Her interest in
writing began in childhood and continues today, with the past four years
being devoted to the study of haiku and its related forms.