“The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.
The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.
We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.
It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women…”
~Joy Harjo, US Poet Laureate

I would venture a guess that most people have engaged in the conversation of ‘what will you do when this ends?’ What will be rushed to first when this pandemic no longer holds us in its time warp? This question is likely tied to the other question that has been asked frequently: What have you missed most? I know that I have asked and been asked both of these queries. It has been easy for me to answer both as they have the same answer. As the pandemic lingered on, what I have missed is sitting around a table with other people, eating, talking, over something as simple as a bowl of soup, a glass of wine, a cup of coffee. Looking into the faces of friends, family, those I love, whose lives have traveled a similar trajectory as mine. This is what I longed to do.

This is why I was so drawn to this poem by US poet laureate, Joy Harjo. She says in words more beautiful and deep than anything I could ever conjure, what I’ve missed, what I want to run toward when the time is right. Sitting at a table. Eating. With other people. And I am so pleased to say that over the last weeks, I have had the opportunity to do just that. Twice I have been blessed to sit and look into the welcoming, beautiful faces of others as we shared a meal. The experience carried with it all the gifts of the past haloed with the golden glow of how precious this time is. Full of memory. Full of understanding of what we had lost, what we hoped to regain as we sat together. 

“…At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers.
Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our children. They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back together once again at the table…”

The act of eating together is one of the great levelers of being human. As the poet says ‘ we must eat to live.’ Over the last year we have been aware of many of the levelers…illness, death, fear, grief, uncertainty.  We have also seen the fractures in so many of the systems that are meant to help create a workable and livable society. Healthcare, technology, food sources and work all favored those of us with privilege. The tables have not been equal and the pain of the last months have once again been carried inequitably on the backs of the poor. It is something with which we must grapple.

“…This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun.
Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate the terrible victory. 
We have given birth on this table, and have prepared our parents for burial here.
At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and remorse. We give thanks.
Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.” 

Our tables have been empty. Our tables have longed to welcome us and challenge us. More and more, we are emerging from our homes to find our way toward living in ways for which we never knew we would yearn.  I hope I have learned to never take the act of sitting down at the table to eat with others for granted. I hope these months have helped us all to watch out for those who live on the margins and to reach out with care when we can, to work to change the systems that keep others at arms length, in shadows we don’t want to notice. We all have our own story of what it has been like to live through our varied experiences of COVID. May we look and listen with grace to everyone’s story, perhaps becoming that table that is ‘a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun. May all our tables help us be birthers of a new world which is kinder, gentler, more compassionate and full of love for each ‘sweet bite.’