The Meeting Room

alcohol-glass-wine-glasses

A still life, of gleaming glasses –
neatly squared notebooks and stripey pink
pencils – smooth table and immaculate
cutlery.
It’s dead but alive
and I’m still…

It’s the same but I’m different:
It’s different, but it’s the same.
Harsh breath, squeaky rubbing – give it a
wipe
next.
Find the symmetry, set the table –
give it a tweak
let’s rearrange it.

When did I forget?
The familiar process,
mind in motion and
body
just
hosting
coasting
living through the motion –
but never letting the table
down.

Still, it’s still – soulless comforts,
brand new, but the same.
An echo chamber of
importance
self
interested – interesting?
Of course, I’ll fetch you more water.

Standing, sitting – the table has
turned.
Stroking the cushioned chair
I
breathe a breath –
the past,
it briefly returned.

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