THE TABLE

My great grandmother,

who spoke to leprechauns

as a girl in County Clare, Ireland,

whose voice was a song,

stood over me as I sat

beneath the dining room table

pushing a red fire truck

round and round

the table’s legs.

We made a game of

looking at each other,

while laughing uncontrollably.

I was four, she was ninety-six.

This memory is all I have of her.

The older I become I realize,

every pursuit, everything

I chase with a passion,

is an attempt

to return to this table.