So, again, this is my last poem for the evening.
I know we always think it's going to be our last poem.
You just never know.
Really, you never know.
We don't really know.
So it's important to treasure every little increment
like right now in this moment we're all here together.
And it is like Natalie said of familia.
And I know I was so happy to see Natalie and her generation
come up because we were always looking for those, what's
going to happen?
Is this going to be the end of it?
And then here they come.
You say, yes.
Or here come the grandchildren.
I have some of my beautiful grandchildren here
and Rita's daughters here.
And we're all children and grandchildren
of those who love us.
But it's going on, it's continuing.
And we can see it and we can hear it all over the country,
and in the poetry and in the voices of these ones coming up.
So thank you, mvto, for the family
and for friendship and for love along the way,
for poetry, the spirit of poetry.
And the center of the world is the kitchen table.
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 teeth at this 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.
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 and at our poor falling down selves,
as we put ourselves back together once again
at the table.
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.
Thank you.