Pair of Tables and a Dance
Father extends his hand, and mother
She gets up, holding his hand,
And they begin to dance.
The red floor feels cold on my
Hands and feet, and I sense
Their eyes looking at me
Laying on the floor.
I don’t remember anything else
Prior to this first memory,
As if suddenly I was three years old
Laying on the floor as my parents danced.
I remember the cold floor,
A pair of square top tables I tried
To get under, and my parents smiling.
First memories are like dreams.
The Syrian tables are still with me,
In a parentless home, and their
Geometric Designs still remind me
of my parent’s dance.