THE TABLE

Three ladies and me.
Have dinner together.
Once a week.
The ladies include me.

Though I am no longer a resident.
I am one of them.
The table.

They waited to order Chinese takeout.
Until I could join them.
Proof that I belonged.
The table.

We talk about our week.
The food.
How. many trays were dropped.
You name it. We discuss it.
The table.

All of us are in wheelchairs.
We understand.
We know what it is like to depend on others for our care.
We appreciate it, but we are frustrated too.
We say what we feel.
Without fear of being judged.
The table.

We laugh. We listen. We support
We talked about moving to the same facility.
The Golden Girls on Wheels. 

I can see us now.
I  doubt it will happen.
It's fun to think about.
The table.

It took leaving the nursing home for me to realize I had friends there.
I was too focused on getting out/
I was not open to friendships.

 I was stupid. 

I was /narrow-minded.

But now...

I always wonder what the conversation will be about.

The Table.