Table
I was made by her father after he came home
from Fort Benning in 1942. He never got shipped out
because of his clubfoot. He says, “I should have shut-up
and not said anything about the pain, then I coulda gone.”
She was eleven then and so happy
he’d not gone anywhere.
Chair
They got me before the table
was made. She needed me. Her legs didn’t work right
since she was born and the Women’s Missionary
Union had donated enough money to buy me. My wheels
were coated bright blue then. I remember when she saw me,
she said, “Mama, do you think
I can take it to heaven?”
Table
He built me to replace the one his mother-and-law had
loaned them when they married. She wanted it back
and he wanted a table the chair could easily
slide under. He didn’t worry about making me fine.
It was for utility’s sake, mine and her’s.
Chair
He finished the table on a Friday afternoon
in October. His wife asked if they wanted to celebrate
by making a special supper and my girl responded by quickly
rolling me to the edge of that table. She helped her mama chop
the last of the summer tomatoes, and asked,
“Can we invite miss Janey? They just sent her papa
off and I know she’d like to see our new table?”
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