I place a napkin on my lap.
'Twas embroidered by my Nan.
She made us all sit up for tea.
Ladies, we would sip and dunk.
Our conversation, chatter, noisily declared our place
in a world that disputed our right to be.
What does a tea-party look like in Palestine?
How cracked the china from the pesky explosions?
Woman in a world of violence…
Wife in a war of words…
Dogs gather beneath the table, longingly hoping for morsels.
Where is the generosity of gleanings left to be gathered?
Where is the possibility of hospitality and welcome?
I place a napkin on my lap
to catch the crumbs from the table.