Pair of Tables and a Dance

Father extends his hand, and mother

Smiles, shyly.

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.

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