Artichokes like Comets
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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